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EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY  ESSAYS. 


With  slower  pen,  men  used  to  write, 
Of  old,  when  "  letters  "  were  "  polite  " ; 
In  Anna's,  or  in  George's  days. 
They  could  afford  to  turn  a  phrase, 
Or  trim  a  straggling  theme  aright. 

They  knew  not  steam ;  electric  light 
Not  yet  had  dazed  their  calmer  sight;  — 
They  meted  out  hoth  blame  and  praise 
"With  slower  pen. 

More  swiftly  now  the  hours  take  flight ! 

What 's  read  at  morn  is  dead  at  night ; 
Scant;  space  have  we  for  Art's  delays, 
Whose  breathless  thought  so  briefly  stays, 

We  may  not  work  —  ah !  would  we  might. 
With  slower  pen ! 


?R 
EIGHTEENTH  CENTURYDi, 

~  mi 

ESSAYS.        ^^^' 


SELECTED  AND  ANNOTATED  BT 


AUSTIN     DOBSON. 


Collecta  revirescunt. 


BOSTON : 

WILLARD     SMALL, 

24  Frankun  Street. 

1888. 


Alfred  Mudge  &  Son,  Printers, 
24  Franklin  Street, 
Boston. 


TO 

MRS.  RICHMOND  THACKERAY  RITCHIE. 


Madam,  —  Inputting  the  finishing  Strokes  to 
that  famous  Novel  of  the  Eighteenth  Century, 
which  is  one  of  the  chief  Glories  of  the  Nine- 
teenth, the  Author  of  Esmond  did  not  neglect 
one  needful  and  indeed  indispensable  Detail, 
the  Dedication  to  an  Illustrious  Personage.  So 
high  a  Precedent  may  not  improperly  be  fol- 
lowed in  Cases  more  obscure.  Were  Mr.  Thack- 
eray still  among  us,  the  Homage  of  this  Selec- 
tion of  Eighteenth-Century  Essays  (had  he  been 
pleased  to  accept  it)  would  have  belonged  of 
right  to  the  literary  Descendant  of  Addison  and 
Fielding,  of  Goldsmith  and  Steele;  and  it  would 
have  been  my  Privilege  to  have  found  in  it  the 
Pretext  for  a  Tribute  (however  trifling)  to  a  great 
Writer  whom  I  love  and  honor.    But  alas ! 

.  .  .  nullum 
Saeva  Caput  Proserpina  fugit : 

and  Fate,  that  cannot  kill  a  Noble  Work,  is 
absolute  over  him  who  gives  it  Birth.  I  am 
reminded,  not  the  less,  that  there  are  still  written, 
for  our  unthinking  Moderns,  Pages  in  which  it 
is  not  difficult  to  trace  some  softer  Relation  to 
that  pure  and  unaffected  Pathos,  that  keen  yet 
kindly  Satire.  I  presume  therefore  to  offer  this 
Utile  Volume  to  Mr.  Thackeray'' s  Daughter. 

I  am.  Madam,  Your  obedient  Servant, 

AUSTIN  DOBSON. 


CONTENTS. 


Introduction 

No.  1.  Mr.  Bickerstaff  Visits  a  Friend 

"    2.  Mr.  Bickerstaff  Visits  a  Friend  (con 

tinned') 

3.  The  Trumpet  Club     . 

4.  The  Political  Upholsterer  . 

5.  Tom  Folio 

6.  Ned  Softly  the  Poet  . 

7.  Kecollections  of  Childhood 

8.  Adventures  of  a  Shilhng  . 

9.  Frozen  Voices    .... 

10.  Stage  Lions        .... 

11.  Meditations  in  "Westminster  Abbey 

12.  The  Exercise  of  the  Fan  . 

13.  Will  Wimble       .... 

14.  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley's  Ancestors 

15.  Sir.Roger  de  Coverley  Hare-Hunting 

16.  The  Citizen's  Journal 

17.  The  Fine  Lady's  Journal    . 

18.  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  at  the  Play 

19.  A  Day's  Ramble  in  London 

20.  Dick  Estcourt :  In  Memoriam   . 

21.  Deatli  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverlev 

22.  The  Tory  Fox-Hunter 

23.  A  Modern  Conversation     . 

24.  A  Modern  Conversation  {continued') 

25.  The  Squire  in  Orders 
2Q.  Country  Congregations 

27.  Dick  Minim  the  Critic 

28.  Dick  Minim  the  Critic  (continued) 


FASK 
9 

19 

26 

32 

38 

44 

49 

55 

61 

67 

74 

79 

84 

8!) 

94 

100 

106 

113 

120 

126 

134 

140 

1<5 

152 

160 

168 

174 

181 

188 


8 

CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

No.  29. 

Art-Connoisseurs 

.      193 

"    30. 

The  Man  in  Blaclc      . 

.       198 

"    31. 

Beau  Tibbs 

.       203 

«'    32. 

Beau  Tibbs  at  Home . 

.       205 

"    33. 

Beau  Tibbs  at  Vauxhall    . 

.       214 

"    Si. 

A  Country  Dowager . 

.       221 

Illustb 

>ATivK  Notes 

.      228 

INTRODUCTION. 


The  Eighteenth-Century  Essayists,  even  in 
the  compact  editions  of  Chalmers  and  Berguer, 
occupy  some  forty  or  fifty  volumes.  These, 
again,  are  only  a  part  of  those  whose  names  are 
given  in  the  laborious  list  compiled  by  Dr. 
Nathan  Drake.  To  compress  any  representa- 
tive selection  from  such  a  mass  of  literature 
within  the  limits  of  the  "  Parchment  Library" 
is  clearly  out  of  the  question ;  and  it  must  there- 
fore be  distinctly  explained  that  we  are  here 
concerned  only  with  a  particular  division  of  the 
subject.  That  grave  and  portentous  produc- 
tion—  the  essay  "critical,"  "metaphysical," 
"  moral,"  which  so  impressed  our  forefathers, 
has  become  to  us  a  little  lengthy —  a  little  weari- 
some. Much  of  it  is  old-fashioned;  something 
is  obsolete.  With  the  march  of  time  philosophy 
has  taken  fresh  directions;  a  new  apparatus 
criticus  has  displaced  the  old;  and  if  we  are 
didactic  now,  we  are  didactic  with  a  difference. 
But  the  sketches  of  social  life  and  character 
still  retain  their  freshness,  because  the  types  are 
eternal.  Le  jour  va  passer ;  mais  Us  badauds  ne 
passeront  pas  I  As  the  frivolous  chatter  of  the 
Syracusan  ladies  in  Theocritus  is  still  to  be 
heard  at  every  Hyde-Park  review,  as  the  Cris- 
pinus  and  Suffenus  of  Horace  and  Catullus  still 
haunt  our  clubs  and  streets,  as  the  personages 
of  Chaucer  and  Molifere  and  La  Bruyfere  and 


10  INTBODUCTJON. 

Shakespeare  still  live  and  move  in  our  midst,  — 
so  the  "  Will  Wimbles  "  and  "  Ned  Softlys,"  the 
"Beau  Tibbs's  "  and  the  "  Men  in  Black,"  are 
as  familiar  to  us  now  as  they  were  to  the  be- 
wigged  and  be-powdered  readers  of  the  "  Spec- 
tator" and  the  "Citizen  of  the  World."  We 
laugh  at  them;  but  we  sympathize  with  them 
too;  and  find  them,  on  the  whole,  more  endur- 
ingly  diverting  than  dissertations  on  the  *'  Non- 
locality  of  Happiness  "  or  the  "  Position  of  the 
Pineal  Gland." 

In  the  conviction,  therefore,  that  the  majority 
of  the  graver  essays  have  lost  their  interest  for 
the  general  public,  the  present  gathering  is 
mainly  confined  to  sketches  of  character  and 
manners,  and  those  chiefly  of  the  humorous 
kind.  The  examples  chosen  will  speak  so 
])lainly  for  themselves  that  any  lenglhy  intro- 
duction would  only  needlessly  occupy  space; 
but  a  few  rapid  indications  with  respect  to  the 
earlier  collections  and  the  succession  of  the 
leading  writers,  will  not  be  superfluous.  Set- 
ting aside  for  the  moment  the  "  Scandal  Club  " 
of  Defoe's  "  Review,"  the  Eighteenth-Century 
Essay  proper  may  be  said  to  begin  with  the 
"Tatler"  by  "  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esq."— the 
first  number  of  which  is  dated  "Tuesday,  April 
12, 1709."  In  appearance  it  was  a  modest-look- 
ing sheet  enough,  and  not  entirely  free  from  the 
imputations  of  "  tobacco-paper  "  and  "  scurvy 
letter"  cast  upon  it  by  an  injured  correspond- 
ent.* Its  price  was  a  penny;  and  it  was  issued 
three  times  a  week.  To  the  first  and  many  sub- 
sequent papers  was  prefixed  that  well-worn 
"  Quicquid  ayunt  homines  "  which  has  recently 
entered  upon  a  new  career  of  usefulness  with 
Lord  Beaconsfield's  "Endymion";  and  its 
"general  purpose,"  as  discovered  in  the  "  Pref- 

•"Tatler,"No.l61. 


INTBODUCTION.  11 

ace  '  to  vol.  i.,  was  "  to  expose  the  false  arts  of 
life;  to  pull  off  the  disguises  of  cunning,  vanity, 
and  affectation;  and  to  recommend  a  general 
simplicity  in  our  dress,  our  discourse,  and  our 
hehavior."  Steele's  first  idea  seems  to  have 
heen  to  corahine  the  latest  news  (for  which  his 
position  as  "  Gazetteer  "  gave  him  exceptional 
facilities)  with  familiar  sketches  and  dramatic 
and  literary  notes.  But  after  eighty  numbers 
had  appeared,  he  was  permanently  joined  by 
Addison,  and  the  essay  began  to  assume  the 
definite  form  which  it  retained  for  a  century, 
namely,  that  of  a  short  paper,  generally  on 
one  subject,  and  headed  with  a  Greek  or  Latin 
motto.  Then,  in  January,  1711,  the  "Tatler" 
came  to  an  end.  Its  place  was  filled,  in  the 
following  March,  by  the  more  famous  "  Specta- 
tor," which  ran  its  course  until  December,  1712. 
After  this,  in  1713,  came  the  "  Guardian";  and 
in  1714  an  eighth  volume  of  the  "Spectator" 
was  issued  by  Addison  alone.  He  was  also  the 
sole  author  of  the  "  Freeholder,"  1715,  Avhich 
contains  the  admirable  sketch  of  the  "  Tory 
Foxhunter."  Steele,  on  his  side,  followed  up 
the  "  Guardian  "  by  the  "  Lover,"  the  "  Reader," 
and  half  a  dozen  abortive  efforts;  but  his  real 
successes,  as  well  as  those  of  Addison,  were  in 
the  three  great  collections  for  which  they 
worked  together. 

Any  comparison  of  these  two  masters  of  the 
Eighteenth-Century  Essay  is  as  futile  as  it  will 
probably  be  perpetual.  While  people  continue 
to  pit  Fielding  against  Smollett,  and  Thackeray 
against  Dickens,  there  will  always  be  a  party  for 
Addison  and  a  party  for  Steele.  The  adherents 
of  the  former  will  draw  conviction  from  Lord 
Macaulay's  famous  defiance  in  the  "Edinburgh  " 
apropos  of  Aikin's  "  Life  ";  those  of  the  latter 
from    that  vigorous  counterblast  which  (after 


12  INTJiODUCTION. 

ten  years'  meditation)  Mr.  Forster  sounded  in 
the  "  Quarterly."  But  the  real  lovers  of  litera- 
ture will  be  content  to  enjoy  the  delightfully 
distinctive  characteristics  of  both.  For  them 
Steele's  frank  and  genial  humor,  his  chivalrous 
attitude  to  women,  and  the  engaging  warmth 
and  generosity  of  his  nature,  will  retain  their 
attraction,  in  spite  of  his  literary  inequalities 
and  structural  negligence;  while  the  occasional 
coldness  and  restraint  of  Addison's  manner  will 
not  prevent  those  who  study  his  work  from 
admiring  his  unfailing  good  taste,  the  archness 
of  his  wit,  his  charming  sub-humorous  gravity, 
and  the  perfect  keeping  of  his  character-painting. 
It  is  needless  to  particularize  the  examples  here 
selected  from  these  writers,  for  they  are  all 
masterpieces. 

About  four  fifths  of  the  "  Tatler,"  "Specta- 
tor," and  "  Guardian"  was  written  by  Addison 
and  Steele  alone.  The  work  of  their  coadjutors 
was  consequently  limited  in  extent,  and,  as  a 
rule,  unimportant.  Budgell,  Addison's  cousin, 
whose  memoiy  survives  chiefly  by  his  tragic 
end,  and  a  malignant  couplet  of  Pope,  was  one 
of  the  most  regular.  Once,  working  on  Addi- 
son's lines,  and  aided,  it  may  be,  by  Addison's 
refining  pen,  he  made  a  respectable  addition  to 
the  "  Coverley  "  series,  which  is  here  reprinted; 
but  we  have  not  cared  to  preserve  any  further 
examples  of  his  style.  From  Hughes,  again, 
another  frequent  writer,  and  an  amiable  man, 
whose  contributions  were  for  the  most  part  in 
the  form  of  letters,  nothing  has  been  taken. 
Next,  b)'  the  amount  of  his  assistance,  comes 
the  Bishop  of  Cloyne  and  the  author  of  "Tar- 
water" —  the  great  and  good  Dr.  Berkeley. 
Excellent  as  they  are,  however,  his  papers  in 
the  "  Guardian  "  against  Collins  and  the  Free- 
thinkers   do    not    come    within    our    scheme. 


introduction:  is 

Among  the  remaining  "  occasionals  "  were  sev- 
eral "  eminent  hands."  These,  though  they 
may  have  graced  the  board,  did  not  add  materi- 
ally to  the  feast.  Pope,  who  has  a  couple  of 
papers  in  the  "Spectator"  and  eight  in  the 
"Guardian,"  is  not  at  his  best  as  an  essayist. 
His  satire  on  "  Dedications,"*  and  his  side- 
laugh  at  Bossu  in  the  "  Receipt  to  make  an 
Epick  Poem,"t  are  the  happiest  of  his  efforts. 
His  well-known  ironic  parallel  between  the 
pastorals  of  Ambrose  Philips  and  his  own  J  is 
admirably  ingenious;  but,  unfortunately,  we 
have  come  to  think  the  one  as  artificial  as  the 
other.  The  "  City  Shower  "§  of  Swift  scarcely 
ranks  as  an  essay  at  all,  and  his  only  remaining 
paper  of  importance  is  a  letter  on  "  Slang. "| 
This,  like  Pope's  pieces,  is  too  exclusively  liter- 
ary for  our  purpose.  Of  Congreve,  Gay,  Tickell, 
Parnell,  and  the  long  list  of  obscurer  writers, 
there  is  nothing  that  seems  to  merit  the  honors 
of  revival. 

Between  the  "  Guardian "  of  1713  and  the 
"Eambler"  of  1750-2,  there  were  a  number  of 
periodical  essayists  of  varying  merit.  It  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  recall  the  names  of  these 
now  forgotten  "Intelligencers,"  "Moderators," 
"  Remembrancers,"  and  the  like,  the  bulk  of 
which  were  political.  Eieldiug  places  one  of 
them,  the  "  Freethinker  "  of  Philips,  nearly  on 
a  level  with  "  those  great  originals,  the  '  Tatlers' 
and  '  Spectators  '  "  ;  but  the  initial  chapters  to 
the  different  books  of  "  Tom  Jones  "  attract  us 
more  forcibly  to  the  author's  own  "  Champion," 
written  in  conjunction  with  the  Ralph  who 
"makes  Night  hideous"  in  the  "  Dunciad." 
Those  utterances,  however,  which  can  with  any 

*  "  Guardian,"  No.  4.  t  "  Gnard5an,"No.  73. 

X  "  Guardian,"  No.  40.  §  "  Tatler,"  No.  238. 

II  "  Tatler,"  No.  230. 


U  mTB  OD  UCTION. 

certainty  be  attributed  to  Fielding,  bear  such 
obvious  signs  of  haste  that  it  is  scarcely  fair  to 
oppose  any  of  them  to  the  more  fiuished  and 
leisurely  efforts  of  Addison.  Another  of  Field- 
ing's enterprises  in  the  "  Spectator  "  vein  was 
the  "  Covent  Garden  Journal,"  1752.  This, 
besides  a  remarkable  paper  on  the  "  Choice  of 
Books,"  contains  a  masterly  essay  on  "  Profan- 
ity," *  including  a  character  sketch  of  the  most 
vigorous  kind,  but  the  very  ridelity  of  the  pic- 
ture unfits  it  for  a  modern  audience. 

Concurrently  with  the  "  Covent  Garden  Jour- 
nal "  appeared  the  final  volume  of  Johnson's 
"  Rambler,"  a  work  upon  the  cardinal  defect  of 
which  its  author  laid  his  finger  when,  in  later 
life,  he  declared  it  to  be  "  too  wordy."  Coming 
from  the  Archpriest  of  magniloquence,  this  is 
no  light  admission.  He  seems  also  to  have  been 
fully  alive  to  its  want  of  variety,  and  frequently 
regretted  that  his  labors  had  not  been  occasion- 
ally relieved  by  some  lighter  pen,  in  which  con- 
nection (according  to  Arthur  Murphy)  he  was 
accustomed  to  quote  sonorously  his  own  fine  lines 
to  Cave: 

"  Non  uUa  Musis  pa^^a  gratior, 
Quam  quae  sever  is  ludicra  jungere 
Novit,  fatigatamque  nugis 
Utilibus  recreate  mentem." 

Lady  Mary  said  in  her  smart  way  that  the 
"Rambler"  followed  the  "Spectator"  as  "a 
packhorse  would  do  a  hunter  "  ;  but  slow-paced 
and  lumbering  as  it  is,  no  one  can  fail  to  recog- 
nize the  frequent  majesty  of  the  periods  and  the 
uniform  vigor  of  the  thought.  In  the  twenty- 
nine  papers  which  Johnson  wrote  for  Hawkes- 
worth's  "  Adventurer,"  the  "  Rambler"  style  is 
maintained.     In  the  "Idler,"  however,  which 

*  "  Covent  Garden  Journal,"  Kos.  10  and  33. 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

belongs  to  a  later  date,  when  its  author's  mind 
was  unclouded,  and  he  was  comparatively  free 
from  the  daily  pressure  of  necessity,  he  adopts 
a  simpler  and  less  polysyllabic  style.  It  is  true 
that  he  still  speaks  of  the  changes  of  the  ba- 
rometer as  "  the  fallacious  promises  ...  of  the 
oraculous  glasses "  ;  but  his  themes  are  less 
didactic,  and,  in  an  unwieldy  fashion,  almost 
playful.  To  select  positively  humorous  exam- 
ples from  his  papers  would,  notwithstanding,  be 
a  difficult  task.  Compared  with  the  somewhat 
similar  productions  of  earlier  essayists,*  the 
oft-praised  "Journey  in  a  Stage-Coach"  of  the 
"  Adventurer  "  is  poor;  but  his  large  knowledge 
of  literature  and  literary  life  gives  point  to  the 
portrait  of  that  inimitably  commonplace  critic 
"  Dick  Minim,"  though  even  here  Addison  has 
anticipated  him  with  "Sir  Timothy  Tittle. "f 
"  Dick  Minim  "  appears  to  have  suggested  three 
letters  from  Reynolds,  the  first  of  which,  on 
"  Art-Connoisseurs,"  we  have  been  tempted  to 
reproduce.  Neither  Langton  nor  Thomas  War- 
ton,  both  of  whom  gave  some  assistance  in  the 
"  Idler,"  supplied  anything  of  moi'e  importance 
than  this  thoughtful,  if  not  very  satirical,  paper 
by  Sir  Joshua. 

As  already  stated,  Johnson  was  only  a  con- 
tributor to  the  "  Adventurer,"  1752,  the  editor 
and  chief  writer  of  which  was  Dr.  Hawkesworth 
of  "  Cook's  Voyages,"  who  was  aided  by  Bath- 
urst,  the  physician,  and  Joseph  Warton,  "  Jack 
Hawkesworth,"  said  Johnson,  "  is  one  of  my 
imitators."  His  strength  lay  chiefly  in  the  old- 
fashioned  oriental  tale,  and  his  social  efforts  are 
not  very  remarkable.  In  the  "  Gradation  from 
a  Greenhorn  to  a  Blood,"  %  there  is  some  useful 
costume;   and  there  are  ludicrous  passages   in 

*  €.  g.,  "  Spectator,"  No.  132.  t  "  Tatler,"  No.  165. 

t  "  Adventurer,"  No.  100. 


16  INTRODUCTION. 

the  "  Distresses  of  an  Author  invited  to  read 

his  Play,"  *  where,  by  the  way,  the  writer  vindi- 
cates his  claim  to  be  reckoned  a  follower  of  "  the 
great  Lexicographer,"  by  speaking  of  a  chance 
addition  to  his  wig  as  "  the  pendulous  reproach 
to  the  honors  of  my  head"  ;  but  it  woidd  not 
be  possible  to  admit  these  two  papers,  as  well  as 
some  others  in  the  "Adventurer,"  into  any 
modern  collection,  without  what,  when  they 
were  \yritten,  would  have  been  styled  "  judicious 
castigation."  For  our  present  purpose,  there- 
fore, we  have  borrowed  nothing  from  Hawkes- 
worth  and  his  colleagues. 

With  the  exception  of  Goldsmith's  "  Chinese 
Letters  "  in  the  "  Public  Ledger,"  the  most  note- 
worthy of  the  remaining  Essayists  are  the 
"  World,"  1753-6,  and  the  "  Connoisseur,"  1754-6. 
The  editor  of  the  former  was  Edward  Moore, 
author  of  some  once-popular  "  Fables  for  the 
Female  Sex."  With  the  assistance  of  Fielding's 
friend,  Lyttelton,  his  list  of  contributors  was 
swelled  by  a  number  of  aristocratic  amateurs, 
such  as  Chesterfield,  Horace  Walpole,  Soame 
Jenyns,  Sir  Charles  Hanbury  Williams,  Hamilton 
Boyle,  and  the  "World"  became, par  excellence, 
the  Eighteenth-Century  journal  "  written  by 
gentlemen  for  gentlemen,"  —  ''  the  bow  of 
Ulysses  (as  one  of  the  writers  put  it),  in  which 
it  was  the  fashion  for  men  of  rank  and  genius 
to  try  their  strength."  The  "  Connoisseur,"  on 
the  other  hand,  was  mainly  the  work  of  two 
friends,  George  Colman  and  Bonnel  Thornton, 
the  Erckmanu-Chatrian  of  their  age.  Whether 
writing  separately  or  together,  their  stj'le  is  un- 
distiuguishable.  They  had  a  few  assistants,  the 
most  notable  of  whom  were  Cowperthe  poet,  and 
Churchill's  friend,  the  unfortunate  Robert  Lloyd. 
From  the  "  Connoisseur"  and  the  "  World"  we 
have  made  one  or  two  selections. 

•  "  Adventurer,"  No.  52. 


INTB  OD  UCTION.  17 

On  the  "  Citizen  of  the  World,"  1760-1,  there 
is  no  need  to  enlarge.  That  charm  of  simplicity 
and  grace,  of  kindliness  and  gentle  humor, 
which  we  recognize  as  Goldsmith's  special  prop- 
erty, requires  no  fresh  description.  The  remain- 
ing Essayists  of  any  importance  may  be  sum- 
marily dismissed.  From  the  Edinburgh  "  Mir- 
ror," 1779-80,  and  its  sequel  the  "  Lounger," 
1785-7,  one  paper  only  has  been  chosen.  But 
there  are  others  which  show  that  Henry  Mac- 
kenzie, the  chief  writer,  is  something  more  than 
the  watery  Sterne  of  the  "  Man  of  Feeling  "  and 
"  Julia  de  Roubigne,"  and  that  he  had  gifts  as  a 
humorist  and  character-painter  of  no  mean  order. 
From  the  •'  Observer  "  of  Richard  Cumberland, 
1785-90,  a  large  proportion  of  which  is  made  up 
of  papers  on  Greek  Literature,  we  have  taken 
nothing. 

A  retrospect  of  the  Eighteenth-Century  Essay- 
ists subsequent  to  the  "  Tatler,"  "Spectator," 
and  "  Guardian,"  only  serves  to  confirm  the 
supremacy  of  Addison  and  Steele.  Some  of 
their  successors  approached  them  in  serious 
writing;  others  carried  the  lighter  kinds  to  con- 
siderable perfection;  but  none  (Goldsmith  alone 
excepted)  really  rivalled  them  in  that  happy 
mingling  of  the  lively  and  severe,  which  Johnson 
envied  but  could  not  emulate.  In  native  purity 
of  tone,  moreover,  they  were  far  in  advance  of 
their  age,  and  were  certainly  not  excelled  by 
any  of  those  who  followed  them.  For  this 
reason,  no  less  than  for  their  general  superi- 
ority, their  work  preponderates  in  the  present 
volume. 

It  is  only  necessary  to  add,  that  as  the  condi- 
tions under  which  the  essays  first  appeared  make 
it  easy  to  date  them  accurately,  the  chronological 
order  has  been  adopted  in  preference  to  any 
more  elaborate  arrangement.  With  the  excep- 
2 


18  INTBODUCTION. 

tion  of  some  retrenchments  specified  in  the 
notes,  and  the  alteration  or  suppression  of  a 
word  now  and  again,  the  text  of  the  best  edi- 
tions has  been  scrupulously  followed. 

AUSTIN  DOBSOK. 


Tatleb.]  N"o.   1.  [Steelk, 

MR.  BICKEESTAFF  VISITS  A  FRIEND. 

Interea  dnlces  pendent  circum  oscula  nati : 
Casta  pudicitiam  servat  domas.  .  .  .     Virg. 

There  are  several  persons  who  have  many 
pleasures  and  entertainments  in  their  posses- 
sion which  they  do  not  enjoy.  It  is  therefore 
a  kind  and  good  ofBce  to  acquaint  them  with 
their  own  happiness,  and  turn  their  attention 
to  such  instances  of  their  good  fortune  which 
they  are  apt  to  overlook.  Persons  in  the 
married  state  often  want  such  a  monitor,  and 
pine  away  their  days,  by  looking  upon  the 
same  condition  in  anguish  and  murmur,  which 
carries  with  it  in  the  opinion  of  others  a  com- 
plication of  all  the  pleasures  of  life,  and  a 
retreat  from  its  inquietudes. 

I  am  led  into  this  thought  by  a  visit  I  made 
an  old  friend,  who  was  formerly  my  school- 
fellow. He  came  to  town  last  week  with  his 
family  for  the  winter,  and  yesterday  morning 
sent  me  word  his  wife  expected  me  to  dinner. 
I  am  as  it  were  at  home  at  that  house,  and 
every  member  of  it  knows  me  for  their  well- 
wisher.  I  cannot,  indeed,  express  the  pleas- 
ure it  is,  to  be  met  by  the  children  with  so 
much  joy  as  I  am  when  I  go  thither :  the  boys 
and  girls  strive  who  shall  come  first,  when 
they  think  it  is  I  that  am  knocking   at  the 


20  MR.  BICKEBSTAFF 

door ;  and  that  child  which  loses  the  race  to 
me,  runs  back  again  to  tell  the  father  it  is  Mr. 
Bickerstafl.  This  day  I  was  led  in  by  a 
pretty  girl,  that  we  all  thought  must  have 
forgot  me,  for  the  family  has  been  out  of  town 
these  two  years.  Her  knowing  me  again  was 
a  mighty  subject  with  us,  and  took  up  our 
discourse  at  the  first  entrance.  After  which, 
they  began  to  rally  me  upon  a  thousand  little 
stories  they  heard  in  the  country  about  ray 
marriage  to  one  of  ray  neighbor's  daughters : 
upon  which  the  gentleman,  my  friend,  said, 
"  Nay,  if  Mr.  Bickerstaff  marries  a  child  of 
any  of  his  old  companions,  I  hope  mine  shall 
have  the  preference.  There  is  Mrs.  Mary  is 
now  sixteen,  and  would  make  him  as  fine  a 
widow  as  the  best  of  them :  but  I  know  him 
too  well ;  he  is  so  enamoured  with  the  very 
memory  of  those  who  flourished  in  our  youth, 
that  he  will  not  so  much  as  look  upon  the 
modern  beauties.  1  remember,  old  gentle- 
man, how  often  you  went  home  in  a  day  to 
refresh  your  countenance  and  dress,  when 
Teraminta  reigned  in  your  heart.  As  we 
came  up  in  the  coach,  I  repeated  to  my  wife 
some  of  your  verses  on  her."  With  such  re- 
flections on  little  passages  which  happened 
long  ago,  we  passed  our  time  during  a  cheerful 
and  elegant  meal.  After  dinner,  his  lady  left 
the  room,  as  did  also  the  children.  As  soon  as 
we  were  alone,  he  took  me  by  the  hand  — 
"Well,  my  good  friend,"  says  he,  "I  am 
heartily  glad  to  see  thee ;  I  was  afraid  you 
would  never  have  seen  all  the  company  that 


VISITS  A  FBIEND.  21 

dined  with  you  to-day  again.  Do  not  you  think 
the  good  woman  of  the  house  a  little  altered, 
since  you  followed  her  from  the  playhouse,  to 
find  out  who  she  was  for  me?''  I  perceived  a 
tear  fall  down  his  cheek  as  he  spoke,  which 
moved  me  not  a  little.  But  to  turn  the  dis- 
course, said  I,  "  She  is  not,  indeed,  quite  that 
creature  she  was  when  she  returned  me  the  letter 
I  carried  from  you  ;  and  told  me  she~  hoped, 
as  I  was  a  gentleman,  I  would  be  employed 
no  more  to  trouble  her,  who  had  never  of- 
fended me  ;  but  would  be  so  much  the  gentle- 
man's friend  as  to  dissuade  him  from  a  pursuit 
which  he  could  never  succeed  in.  You  may 
remember,  I  thought  her  in  earnest,  and  you 
were  forced  to  employ  your  cousin  "Will,  who 
made  his  sister  get  acquainted  with  her  for 
you.  You  cannot  expect  her  to  be  forever  fif- 
teen." —  "  Fifteen  !  "  replied  my  good  friend. 
"  Ah  !  you  little  understand,  you  that  have  lived 
a  bachelor,  how  great,  how  exquisite  a  pleasure 
there  is  in  being  really  beloved  !  It  is  impos- 
sible that  the  most  beauteous  face  in  nature 
should  raise  in  me  such  plasing  ideas,  as 
when  I  look  upon  that  excellent  woman. 
That  fading  in  her  countenance  is  chiefly 
caused  by  her  watching  with  me  in  my  fever. 
This  was  followed  by  a  fit  of  sickness,  which 
had  like  to  have  carried  her  off  last  winter. 
I  tell  you  sincerely,  I  have  so  miny  obliga- 
tions to  her,  that  I  cannot  with  any  sort  of 
moderation  think  of  her  present  state  of 
health.  But  as  to  what  you  say  of  fifteen, 
she    gives  me  every  day    pleasures   beyond 


22  MB.  BICKERSTAFF 

what  I  ever  knew  in  the  possession  of  her 
beauty,  when  I  was  in  the  vigor  of  youth. 
Every  moment  of  her  life  brings  me  fresh 
instances  of  her  complacency  to  ray  inclina- 
tions, and  her  prudence  in  regard  to  my 
fortune.  Her  face  is  to  me  much  more  beau- 
tiful than  when  I  first  saw  it ;  there  is  no 
decay  in  any  feature  which  I  cannot  trace 
from  the  very  instant  it  was  occasioned  by 
some  anxious  concern  for  my  welfare  and 
interests.  Thus  at  the  same  time,  methinks, 
the  love  I  conceived  towards  her,  for  what  she 
was,  is  heightened  by  my  gratitude  for  what 
she  is.  The  love  of  a  wife  is  as  much  above 
the  idle  passion  commonly  called  by  that 
name,  as  the  loud  laughter  of  buffoons  is 
inferior  to  the  elegant  mirth  of  gentlemen. 
Oh !  she  is  an  inestimable  jewel.  In  her 
examination  of  her  household  affairs,  she 
shews  a  certain  fearfulness  to  find  a  fault, 
which  makes  her  servants  obey  her  like  chil- 
dren ;  and  the  meanest  we  have  has  an  ingen- 
uous shame  for  an  offence,  not  always  to  be 
seen  in  children  in  other  families.  I  speak 
freely  to  you,  my  old  friend ;  ever  since  her 
sickness,  things  that  gave  me  the  quickest  joy 
before,  turn  now  to  a  certain  anxiety.  As  the 
children  play  in  the  next  room,  1  know  the 
poor  things  by  their  steps,  and  am  considering 
what  they  must  do,  should  they  lose  their 
mother  in  their  tender  years.  The  pleasure  I 
used  to  take  in  telling  ray  boy  stories  of  the 
battles,  and  asking  my  gii'l  questions  about  the 
disposal  of  her  baby,  and  the  go->sipiug  of  it, 


VISITS  A  FBIEND,  23 

is  turned  into  inward  reflection  and  melan- 
choly." 

He  would  have  gone  on  in  this  tender  way, 
when  the  good  lady  entered,  and  with  an  in- 
expressible sweetness  in  her  countenance  told 
us  she  had  been  searching  her  closet  for  some- 
thing very  good,  to  treat  such  an  old  friend 
as  I  was.  Her  husband's  eyes  sparkled  with 
pleasure  at  the  cheerfulness  of  her  counte- 
nance ;  and  I  saw  all  his  fears  vanish  in  an  in- 
stant. The  lady  observing  something  in  our 
looks  which  shewed  we  had  been  more  serious 
than  ordinary,  and  seeing  her  husband  rec^  ive 
her  with  great  concern  under  a  forced  cheer- 
fulness, immediately  guessed  at  what  we  had 
been  talking  of ;  and  applying  herself  to  me, 
said  with  a  smile,  ''Mr.  Bickerstaff,  do  not 
believe  a  word  of  what  he  tells  you,  I  shall 
still  live  to  have  you  for  my  second,  as  I  have 
often  prom  sed  you,  unless  he  takes  more  care 
of  himself  than  he  has  done  since  his  coming 
to  town.  You  must  know,  he  tells  me,  that 
he  finds  London  is  a  much  more  healthy  place 
than  the  country  ;  for  he  sees  several  of  his  old 
acquaintance  and  school-f  ellaws  are  here  young 
fellows  with  fair  full-bottomed  periwigs.  I 
could  scarce  keep  him  this  morning  from  going 
out  open- breasted."  My  friend,  who  is  al- 
ways extremely  delighted  with  her  agreeable 
humor,  made  her  sit  down  with  us.  She  did 
it  with  that  easiness  which  is  peculiar  to 
women  of  sense ;  and  to  keep  up  the  good- 
humor  she  had  brought  in  with  her,  turned 
her  raillery  upon  me :  "  Mr.  Bickerstaff,  you 


24  MB.  BICKERSTAFF 

remember  you  followed  me  one  night  from  the 
playhouse ;  supposing  you  should  carry  me 
thither  to-morrow  night,  and  lead  me  into  the 
fronL-box."  This  put  us  into  a  long  field  of 
discourse  about  the  beauties,  who  were  mothers 
to  the  present,  and  shined  in  the  boxes  twenty 
years  ago.  I  told  her  I  was  glad  she  had 
transferred  so  many  of  her  charms,  and  I  did 
not  question  but  her  eldest  daughter  was  within 
half  a  year  of  being  a  toast. 

We  were  pleasing  ourselves  with  this  fan- 
tastical preferment  of  the  J'oung  lady,  when 
on  a  sudden  we  were  alarmed  with  the  noise  of 
a  drum,  and  immediately  entered  my  little  god- 
son to  give  me  a  point  of  war.  His  mother, 
between  laughing  and  chiding,  would  have  put 
him  out  of  tlie  room  ;  but  I  would  not  part  with 
him  so.  I  found,  upon  conversation  with  him, 
though  he  was  a  little  noisy  in  his  mirth,  that 
the  child  had  excellent  parts,  and  was  a  great 
master  of  all  the  learning  on  the  other  side 
eight  years  old.  I  perceived  him  a  very  great 
historian  in  ^sop's  Fables :  but  he  frankly 
declared  to  me  his  mind,  that  he  did  not  de- 
light in  that  learning,  because  he  did  not  be- 
lieve they  were  true  ;  for  which  reason  I  found 
he  had  very  much  turned  his  studies  for  about 
a  twelvemonth  past,  into  the  lives  and  adven- 
tures of  Don  Belianis  of  Greece,  Guy  of  War- 
wick, the  Seven  Champions,  and  other  histo- 
rians of  that  age.  I  could  not  but  observe  the 
satisfaction  the  fathei*  took  in  the  forwardness 
of  his  son  ;  and  that  these  diversions  might 
turn  to  some  profit,  I  found  the  boy  had  made 


VISITS  A  FBIEND.  25 

remarks,  which  might  bo  of  service  to  him  dur- 
ing the  course  of  his  whole  life.  He  would  tell 
you  the  mismanagements  of  John  Hickathrift, 
find  fault  with  the  passionate  temper  in  Be^as 
of  Southampton,  and  love  Saint  George  for 
being  the  champion  of  England  ;  and  by  this 
means,  had  his  thoughts  insensibly  moulded 
into  the  notions  of  discretion,  virtue,  and  honor. 
I  was  extolling  his  accomplishments,  when  the 
mother  told  me,  that  the  little  girl  who  led  me 
in  this  morning  was  in  her  way  a  better 
scholar  than  he  :  "  Betty,"  says  she,  "  deals 
chiefly  in  fairies  and  sprites ;  and  sometimes 
in  a  winter  night,  will  terrify  the  maids  with 
her  accounts,  till  they  are  afraid  to  go  up  to 
bed." 

I  sat  with  them  till  it  was  very  late,  some- 
times in  merry,  sometimes  in  serious  discourse 
with  this  particular  pleasure,  which  gives  the 
only  true  relish  to  all  conversation,  a  sense 
that  ever}'  one  of  us  liked  each  other.  I  went 
home,  considering  the  different  conditions  of  a 
married  life  and  that  of  a  bachelor ;  and  I 
must  confess  it  struck  me  with  a  secret  con- 
cern, to  reflect,  that  whenever  I  go  off,  I  shall 
leave  no  traces  behind  me.  In  this  pensive 
mood  I  returned  to  my  family  ;  that  is  to  say, 
to  my  maid,  my  dog,  and  my  cat,  who  only 
can  be  the  better  or  worse  for  what  happens 
to  me. 

Nov.  17,  1709. 


Tatleb.J  No.  S.  [Stbelb. 

MR.  BICKERSTArr  YISITS  A  TEIEND. 

(Continved.) 

Ut  in  vita,  sic  in  studiis,  pulcherrimum  et  huraanissimum  ex- 
istimo,  severitatein  coniitatemquo  miscere,  ne  ilia  in  tristitiani, 
lisec  in  petulantiam  procedat. — flin. 

I  WAS  walking  about  my  chamber  this  morn- 
ing in  a  very  gay  humor,  when  I  saw  a  coach 
stop  at  my  door,  and  a  youth  about  fifteen 
alighting  out  of  it,  whom  I  perceived  to  be 
the  eldest  son  of  my  bosom  friend,  that  I 
gave  some  account  of  in  my  paper  of  the  sev- 
enteenth of  the  last  month.  1  felt  a  sensible 
pleasure  rising  in  me  at  the  sight  of  him,  my 
acquaintance  having  begun  with  his  father 
when  he  was  just  such  a  stripling,  and  about 
that  very  age.  When  he  came  up  to  me,  he 
took  me  by  the  hand,  and  burst  out  in  tears. 
I  was  extremely  moved,  and  immediately 
said,    "Child,    how   does  your   father   do?" 

He  began  to  reply,  "My  mother "  but 

could  not  go  on  for  weeping.  I  went  down 
with  him  into  the  coach,  and  gathered  out  of 
him,  that  his  mother  was  then  dying,  and  that 
while  the  holy  man  was  doing  his  last  offices 
to  her,  he  had  taicen  that  time  to  come  and 
call  me  to  his  father  who  (he  said)  would  cer- 
tainly break  his  heart  if  I  did  not  go  and  com- 
fort him.  The  child's  discretion  in  coming  to 
me  of  his  own  head,   an!  the  tenderness  he 


ME.  BICKEBSTAFF  VISITS  A  FRIEND.     27 

shewed  for  his  parents,  would  have  quite  over- 
powered me,  had  I  not  resolve<l  to  fortify  my- 
self for  the  seasonable  performances  of  those 
duties  which  I  owed  to  my  friend.  As  we 
were  going.  I  could  not  but  reflect  upon  the 
character  of  that  excellent  woman,  and  the 
greatness  of  his  grief  for  the  loss  of  one  who 
has  ever  been  the  support  to  him  imder  all 
other  afflictions.  "  IIow,"  thought  I,  "will 
he  be  able  to  bear  the  hour  of  hor  death,  that 
could  not.  when  I  was  lately  with  him,  speak 
of  a  sickness,  which  was  then  past,  without 
sorrow  ?  "  We  were  now  got  pretty  far  into 
"Westminster,  and  arrived  at  my  friend's  house. 
At  the  door  of  it  I  met  Favonius,  not  without 
a  secret  satisfaction  to  find  he  had  been  there. 
I  had  formerly  conversed  with  him  at  his 
house ;  and  as  he  abounds  with  that  sort  of 
virtue  and  knowledge  which  makes  religion 
beautiful,  and  never  leads  the  conversation 
into  the  violence  and  rage  of  party  disputes,  I 
listened  to  him  with  great  pleasure.  Our  dis- 
course chanced  to  be  upon  the  subject  of 
death,  which  he  treated  with  such  a  strength 
of  reason,  and  greatness  of  soul,  that  instead 
of  being  terrible,  it  appeared  to  a  mind  rightly 
cultivated,  altogether  to  be  contemned,  or 
rather  to  be  desired.  As  I  mot  him  at  the 
door,  I  saw  in  his  face  a  certain  glowing  of 
grief  and  humanity,  heightened  with  an  air  of 
fortitude  and  resolution,  which,  as  I  after- 
wards found,  had  such  an  irresistible  force,  as 
to  suspend  the  pains  of  the  dying,  and  the 
lamentations  of  the  nearest  friends  who  at- 


28  MR.  BICKEIiSTAFF 

tended  her.  I  went  up  directly  to  the  room 
where  she  lay,  and  was  met  at  the  entrance  by 
ray  friend,  who,  notwithstanding  his  thoughts 
had  been  composed  a  little  before,  at  the  sight 
of  me  turned  away  his  face  and  wept.  The 
little  family  of  children  renewed  the  expres- 
sions of  their  sorrow  according  to  their  sev- 
eral ages  and  degrees  of  understanding.  The 
eldest  daughter  was  in  tears,  busied  in  attend- 
an'  e  upon  her  mother ;  others  were  kneeling 
about  the  bedside  :  and  what  troubled  me  most 
was  to  see  a  little  boy,  who  was  too  young  to 
know  the  reason,  weeping  only  because  his 
sisters  did.  The  only  one  in  the  room  who 
seemed  resigned  and  comforted  was  the  d3ing 
person.  At  my  approach  to  the  bedside,  she 
told  me,  with  a  low  broken  voice,  "This  is 
kindly  done  —  Take  care  of  your  friend  — 
Don't  go  from  him."  She  had  before  taken 
leave  of  her  husband  and  children,  in  a  man- 
ner proper  for  so  solemn  a  parting,  and  with 
a  gracefulness  peculiar  to  a  woman  of  her 
character.  My  heart  was  torn  in  pieces  to  see 
the  husband  on  one  side  suppressing  and  keep- 
ing down  the  swellings  of  his  grief,  for  fear 
of  disturbing  her  in  her  last  moments ;  and 
the  wife  even  at  that  time  concealing  the  pains 
she  endured,  for  fear  of  increasing  his  afflic- 
tion. She  kept  her  e3'es  upon  him  for  some 
moments  after  she  grew  speechless,  and  soon 
after  closed  them  forever.  In  the  moment  of 
her  departure,  my  friend  (who  had  thus  far 
commanded  himself)  gave  a  deep  groan,  and 
fell  into  a  swoon  by  her  bedside.     The  dis- 


VISITS  A  FBIEND.  29 

traction  of  the  children,  who  thought  they  saw 
both  thi  ir  parents  expiring  together,  and  now 
lying  dead  before  them,  would  have  melted 
the  hardest  heart;  but  they  soon  perceived 
their  father  recover,  whom  I  helped  to  remove 
into  another  room,  with  a  resolution  to  accom- 
pany him  until  tlie  first  pangs  of  his  affliction 
were  abated.  I  knew  consolation  would  now 
be  impertinent ;  and  therefore  contented  my- 
self to  sit  by  him,  and  condole  with  him  in 
silence.  For  I  shall  here  use  the  method  of 
an  ancient  author,  who  in  one  of  his  epistles 
relating  the  virtues  and  death  of  Maerinus's 
wife,  expresses  himself  thus:  "I  shall  sus- 
pend my  advice  to  this  best  of  friends,  until 
he  is  made  capable  of  receiving  it  by  those 
great  remedies  —  Necessitas  ipsa,  dies  longa,  et 
satietas  doloris — the  necessity  of  submission, 
length  of  time,  and  satiety  of  grief." 

In  the  mean  time,  I  cannot  but  consider  with 
much  commiseration,  tlie  melancholy  state  of 
one  who  has  had  such  a  part  of  himself  torn 
from  him,  and  which  he  misses  in  every  cir- 
cumstance of  life.  His  condition  is  like  that 
of  one  who  has  lately  lost  his  right  arm,  and 
is  every  moment  offering  to  help  himself  with 
it.  He  does  not  appear  to  himself  the  same 
person  in  his  house,  at  his  table,  in  company, 
or  in  retirement ;  and  loses  the  relish  of  all 
the  pleasures  and  diversions  that  were  before 
entertaining  to  him  by  her  participation  of 
them.  The  most  agreeable  objects  recall  the 
sorrow  for  her  with  whom  he  used  to  enjoy 
them.     This  additional  satisfaction,  from  the 


30  MR.  BICKERSTAFF 

taste  of  pleasures  in  the  society  of  one  we  love, 
is  admirably  described  in  Milton,  who  repre- 
sents Eve,  though  in  Paradise  itself,  no  farther 
pleased  with  the  beautiful  objects  around  her, 
than  as  she  sees  them  in  company  with  Adam, 
in  that  passage  so  inexpressibly  charming  : 

With  thee  conversing,  I  forgot  all  time, 
All  seasons,  and  their  change;  all  please  alike. 
Sweet  is  the  breath  of  morn,  her  rising  sweet 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds ;  pleasant  tlie  sun, 
When  first  on  this  delightful  laud  he  spreads 
His  orient  beams,  on  herb,  tr.'e,  fruit  and  flower, 
Glist'ring  with  dew ;  fragrant  the  fertile  earth 
After  soft  show'rs,  and  sweet  the  coming  on 
Of  grateful  ev'niug  mild ;  then  silent  night, 
With  this  her  solemn  bird,  and  this  fair  moon, 
And  these  th"  gems  of  heaven,  her  starrj'  train. 
But  neither  bi-eath  of  m^m  when  she  ascends 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds,  nor  rising  sun 
In  this  delightful  land,  nor  herb,  fruit,  flower, 
Glist'ring  with  dew,  nor  fragrant  after  showers, 
Nor  grateful  ev'ning  mild,  nor  silent  night, 
With  this  her  solemn  bird,  nor  walk  by  moon, 
Or  glittering  star-light,  without  thee  is  sweet. 


The  variety  of  images  in  this  passage  is  in- 
finitely pleasing,  and  the  recapitulation  of  each 
particular  image,  with  a  little  varying  of  the 
expression,  makes  one  of  the  finest  turns  of 
words  that  I  have  ever  seen :  which  I  rather 
mention,  because  Mr.  Dryden  has  said  in  his 
preface  to  Juvenal,  that  he  could  meet  with 
no  turn  of  words  in  Milton. 

It  may  be  further  observed,  that  though  the 
sweetness  of  these  verses  has  something  in  it 
of  a  pastoral,  yet  it  excels  the  ordinary  kind, 
as  much  as  the  scene  of  it  is  above  an  ordinary 
field  or  meadow.     I  might  here,  since  I  am 


VISITS  A   FRIEND.  31 

accidentally  led  into  this  subject,  shew  several 
passages  iu  Milton  that  have  as  excellent  turns 
of  this  nature,  as  any  ot'  our  English  poets 
whatsoever  ;  but  shall  only  mention  that  which 
follows,  in  which  he  describes  the  fallen  angels 
engaged  in  the  intricate  disputes  of  predesti- 
nation, free-will,  and  foreknowledge;  and  to 
humor  the  perplexity,  makes  a  kind  of  laby- 
rinth in  the  very  words  that  describe  it : 

Others  apart  sate  on  a  liill  retir'd, 
In  thoughts  more  elevate,  and  r«asoned  high 
Of  providence,  foreknowledge,  will,  and  fate, 
Fix'd  fate,  free-will,  foreknowledge  absolute, 
And  found  uo  end  in  wand'ring  mazes  lost. 

Dec.  31, 1709. 


TATUtB.]  N"o.  3.  [Steeu. 

THE  TRUMPET  CLUB. 

Haheo  Renectuti  magnam  gratiam,  quae  mitai  Bcrmonis  avidita- 
tem  ausit,  potionis  et  cibi  sustulit.  —  Tull.  de  Sen. 

After  having  applied  my  mind  with  more 
than  oidinary  attention  to  my  studies,  it  is 
my  usual  custom  to  relax  and  unbend  it  in 
the  conversation  of  such  as  are  rather  eas}' 
than  shining  companions.  This  I  find  par- 
ticularly necessary  for  me  before  I  retire  to 
rest,  in  ordir  to  draw  m}'  slumbers  upon  me 
by  degrees,  and  fall  asleep  insensibly.  This 
is  the  particuar  use  I  make  of  a  set  of  heavy 
honest  men,  with  whom  I  have  passed  many 
hours  with  much  indolence,  though  not  with 
great  pl-asure.  Their  conversation  is  a  kind 
of  preparative  for  sleep :  it  takes  the  mind 
down  from  its  abstractions,  leads  it  into  the 
familiar  traces  of  thought,  and  lulls  it  into 
that  state  of  tranquillity  which  is  the  condi- 
tion of  a  thinking  man,  when  he  is  but  half 
awake.  After  this,  my  reader  will  not  be 
surprised  to  hear  the  account  which  I  am  about 
to  give  of  a  club  of  my  own  contemporaries, 
among  whom  I  pass  two  or  three  hours  every 
evening.  This  I  look  upon  as  taking  m}'  first 
nap  before  I  go  to  bed.  The  truth  of  it  is, 
I  should  think  myself  unjust  to  posterity,  as 
well   as   to   the   society   at   the    Trumpet,  of 


THE   TRUMPET  CLUB.  33 

which  I  am  a  member,  did  not  I  in  some  part 
of  my  writings  give  an  account  of  the  per- 
sons among  whom  I  have  passed  almost  a 
sixth  part  of  my  time  for  these  last  forty 
years.  Our  club  consisted  originally  of  fif- 
teen ;  but  partly  by  the  severity  of  the  law  in 
arbitrary  times,  and  partly  by  the  natural 
effects  of  old  age,  we  are  at  present  reduced 
to  a  third  part  of  that  number ;  in  which,  how- 
ever, we  have  this  consolation,  that  the  best 
company  is  said  to  consist  of  five  persons.  I 
must  confess,  besides  the  aforementioned 
benefit  which  I  meet  with  in  the  conversation 
of  this  select  society,  I  am  not  the  less  pleased 
with  the  company,  in  that  I  find  myself  the 
greatest  wit  among  them,  and  am  heard  as 
their  oracle  in  all  points  of  learning  and  difll- 
culty. 

Sir  Jeoffrey  Notch,  who  is  the  oldest  of  the 
club,  has  been  in  possession  of  the  right-hand 
chair  time  out  of  mind,  and  is  the  only  man 
among  us  that  has  the  liberty  of  stirring  the 
fire.  This  our  foreman  is  a  gentleman  of  an 
ancient  family,  that  came  to  a  great  estate 
some  years  before  he  had  discretion,  and  ran 
it  out  in  hounds,  horses,  and  cock-fighting ; 
for  which  reason  he  looks  upon  himself  as  an 
honest,  worthy  gentleman,  who  has  had  mis- 
fortunes in  the  world,  and  calls  every  thriving 
man  a  pitiful  upstart. 

Major   Matchlock  is  the  next  senior,  who 

served  in  the  last  civil  wars,  and  has  all  the 

battles   by   heart.      He   does    not   think   any 

action  in  Europe  worth  talking  of  since  the 

3 


34  THE   TBUMPET  CLUB. 

fight  of  Marston  Moor ;  and  every  night  tells 
us  of  his  having  been  knocked  off  his  horse 
at  the  rising  of  the  London  apprentices ;  for 
which  he  is  in  great  esteem  among  us. 

Honest  old  Dick  Reptile  is  the  third  of  our 
society.  He  is  a  good-natured  indolent  man, 
who  speaks  little  himself,  but  laughs  at  our 
jokes ;  and  brings  his  young  nephew  along 
with  him,  a  youth  of  eighteen  years  old,  to 
shew  him  good  company,  and  give  him  a  taste 
of  the  world.  This  young  fellow  sits  gener- 
ally silent ;  but  whenever  he  opens  his  mouth, 
or  laughs  at  anything  that  passes,  he  is  con- 
stantly told  by  his  uncle,  after  a  jocular 
manner,  "Aye,  aye.  Jack,  you  young  men 
think  us  fools,  but  we  old  men  know  you  are." 

The  greatest  wit  of  our  company,  next  to 
myself,  is  a  Bencher  of  a  neighboring  inn,  who 
in  his  youth  frequented  the  ordinaries  about 
Charing  Cross,  and  pretends  to  have  been 
intimate  with  Jack  Ogle.  He  has  about  ten 
distiches  of  Hudibras  without  book,  and  never 
leaves  the  club  till  he  has  applied  them  all. 
If  any  modern  wit  be  mentioned,  or  any  town 
frolic  spoken  of,  he  shakes  his  head  at  the 
dulness  of  the  present  age,  and  tells  us  a  story 
of  Jack  Ogle. 

For  my  own  part,  I  am  esteemed  among 
them,  because  they  see  I  am  something  re- 
spected by  others  ;  though  at  the  same  time  I 
understand  by  their  behavior,  that  I  am  con- 
sidered by  them  as  a  man  of  a  great  deal  of 
learning,  but  no  knowledge  of  the  world ;  in- 
somuch  that    the   Major    sometimes,    in   the 


THE   TRUMPET  CLUB.  35 

height  of  his  military  pride,  calls  me  the  Phi- 
losopher ;  and  Sir  Jeoffre}',  no  longer  ago  than 
last  night,  upon  a  dispute  what  day  of  the 
month  it  was  then  in  Holland,  pulled  his  pipe 
out  of  his  mouth,  and  cried,  "  What  does  the 
scholar  say  to  it  ?  " 

Our  club  meets  precisely  at  six  o'clock  in 
the  evening ;  but  I  did  not  come  last  night 
until  half  an  hour  after  seven,  by  which  means 
I  escaped  the  battle  of  Naseby,  which  the 
Major  usually  begins  at  about  three  quarters 
after  six  :  I  found  also,  that  my  good  friend, 
the  Bencher,  had  already  spent  three  of  his 
distiches,  and  only  waited  an  opportunity  to 
hear  a  sermon  spoken  of,  that  he  might  intro- 
duce the  couplet  where  "a  stick"  rhymes  to 
"  ecclesiastic."  At  my  entrance  into  the 
room,  they  were  naming  a  red  petticoat  and 
a  cloak,  by  which  I  found  that  the  Bencher 
had  been  diverting  them  with  a  story  of  Jack 
Ogle. 

I  had  no  sooner  taken  my  S'^at,  but  Sir 
Jeoffrey,  to  shew  his  good- will  towards  me, 
gave  me  a  pipe  of  his  own  tobacco,  and 
stirred  up  the  fire.  I  look  upon  it  as  a  point 
of  morality,  to  be  obliged  by  those  who 
endeavor  to  oblige  me ;  and  therefore,  in 
requital  for  his  kindness,  and  to  set  the  con- 
versation a-going,  I  took  the  best  occasion  I 
could  to  put  him  upon  telling  us  the  story  of 
old  Gantlett,  which  he  always  does  with  very 
particular  concern.  He  traced  up  his  descent 
on  both  sides  for  several  generations,  describ- 
ing his   diet   and   manner   of    life,   with   his 


36  THE   TRUMPET  CLUB. 

several  battles,  and  particularly  that  in  which 
he  fell.  This  Gantlett  was  a  gamo  cock, 
upon  whose  head  the  knight,  in  his  youth, 
had  won  five  hundred  pounds,  and  lost  two 
thousand.  This  naturally  set  the  Major  upon 
the  account  of  Edge-hill  fight,  and  ended  in  a 
duel  of  Jack  Ogle's. 

Old  Reptile  was  extremely  attentive  to  all 
that  was  said,  though  it  was  the  same  he  had 
heard  every  night  f >  r  these  twenty  years  ;  and 
upon  all  occasions  winked  upon  his  nephew  to 
mind  what  passed. 

This  may  suffice  to  give  the  world  a  taste  of 
our  innocent  conversation,  which  we  spun  out 
until  about  ten  of  the  clock,  when  my  maid 
came  with  a  lanthorn  to  light  me  home.  I 
could  not  but  reflect  with  myself,  as  I  was 
going  out,  upon  the  talkative  humor  of  old 
men,  and  the  little  figure  which  that  part  of 
life  makes  in  one  who  cannot  employ  his 
natural  propensity  in  discourses  which  would 
make  him  venerable.  I  must  own,  it  makes 
me  very  melancholy  in  company,  when  1  hear 
a  young  man  begin  a  story ;  and  have  often 
observed,  that  one  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
long  in  a  man  of  five-and-twenty  gathers  cir- 
cumstances every  time  he  tells  it,  until  it 
grows  into  a  long  Canterbury  tale  of  two 
hours  by  that  time  he  is  threescore. 

The  only  way  of  avoiding  such  a  trifling 
and  frivolous  old  age  is,  to  lay  up  in  our  way 
to  it  such  stores  of  knowledge  and  observa- 
tions, as  may  make  us  useful  and  agreeable  in 
our  declining  years.     The  mind  of  man  in  a 


THE   TBUMPET  CLUB.  87 

long  life  will  become  a  magazine  of  wisdom  or 
folly,  and  will  consequently  discharge  itself 
in  something  impertinent  or  improving.  For 
which  reason,  as  there  is  nothing  more  ridicu- 
lous than  an  old  trifling  storj'-teller,  so  there  is 
nothing  more  venerable,  than  one  who  has 
turned  his  experience  to  the  entertainment  and 
advantage  of  mankind. 

In  short,  we,  who  are  in  the  last  stage  of 
life,  and  are  apt  to  indulge  ourselves  in  talk, 
ought  to  consider,  if  what  we  speak  be  worth 
being  heard,  and  endeavor  to  make  our  dis- 
course like  that  of  Nestor,  which  Homer  com- 
pares to  the  flowing  of  honey  for  its  sweetness. 

I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  thought  guilty  of  this 
excess  I  am  speaking  of,  when  I  cannot  con- 
clude without  observing,  that  Milton  certainly 
thought  of  this  passage  in  Homer,  when  in 
his  description  of  an  eloquent  spirit,  he 
says,  "  His  tongue  dropped  manna." 

Feb.  11, 1710. 


Tatlkb.]  TTo.   4.  [Addison. 

THE  POLITICAL  UPIOLSTERER. 

.  .  .  aliena  negotia  curat, 
EzcussuB  propriiB.  nor. 

There  lived  some  years  since  within  my 
neighborhood  a  very  grave  person,  an  Uphol- 
sterer, who  seemed  a  man  of  more  than  ordi- 
nary application  to  business.  He  was  a  very 
earlj'  riser,  and  was  often  abrond  two  or 
three  hours  before  any  of  his  neighbors.  He 
had  a  particular  carefulness  in  the  knitting  of 
his  brows,  and  a  kind  of  impatience  in  all 
his  motions,  that  plainh'  discovered  he  was  al- 
waj's  intent  on  matters  of  importance.  Upon 
my  enquiry  into  his  life  and  conversation,  I 
found  him  to  be  the  greatest  newsmonger  in 
our  quarter  ;  that  he  rose  before  day  to  read 
the  Postman  ;  and  that  he  would  take  two  or 
three  turns  to  the  other  end  of  the  town 
before  his  neighbors  were  up,  to  see  if  there 
were  any  Dutch  mails  come  in.  He  had  a 
wife  and  several  children ;  but  was  much 
more  inquisitive  to  know  what  passed  in 
Poland  than  in  his  own  family,  and  was  in 
greater  pain  and  anxiety  of  mind  for  King 
Augustus's  welfare  than  that  of  his  nearest 
relations.  He  looked  extremely  thin  in  a 
dearth  of  news,  and  never  enjoyed  himself  in 
a  westerly  wind.     This  indefatigable  kind  of 


THE  POLITICAL    UPHOLSTEBER.       39 

life  wns  the  ruin  of  his  shop ;  for  about  the 
time  that  his  favorite  prince  left  the  crown  of 
Poland,  he  broke  and  disappeared. 

This  man  and  his  affairs  had  been  long  out 
of  ray  mind,  till  about  three  days  ago,  as  I  was 
walking  in  St.  James's  Park,  I  heard  some- 
body at  a  distance  hemming  after  me :  and 
who  should  it  be  but  my  old  neighbor  the 
Upholsterer?  I  saw  he  was  reduced  to  ex- 
treme poverty,  by  certain  shabby  superfluities 
in  his  dress  :  for  notwithstanding  that  it  was  a 
very  sultry  day  for  the  time  of  the  year,  he 
wore  a  loose  great-coat  and  a  muff,  with  a  long 
campaign  wig  out  of  curl ;  to  which  he  had 
added  the  ornament  of  a  pair  of  black  garters 
buckled  under  the  knee.  Upon  his  coming  up 
to  me,  I  was  going  to  enquire  into  his  present 
circumstances  ;  but  was  prevented  by  his  ask- 
ing me,  with  a  whisper,  Whether  the  last 
letters  brought  any  accounts  that  one  might 
rely  upon  from  Bender?  I  told  him,  None 
that  I  heard  of ;  and  asked  him  whether  he 
had  jet  married  his  eldest  daughter ?  He  told 
me,  No.  "But  pray,"  says  he,  "tell  me 
sincerelj',  what  are  your  thoughts  of  the  King 
of  Sweden  ?  "  For  though  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren were  starving,  I  found  his  chief  concern 
at  present  was  for  this  great  monarch.  I  told 
him,  that  I  looked  upon  him  as  one  of  the  first 
heroes  of  the  age.  "  But  pray,"  says  he,  "  do 
you  think  there  is  anything  in  the  story  of  his 
wound?"  And  finding  me  surprised  at  the 
question —  "Nay,"  says  he,  "  I  only  propose 
it  to  you."    I  answered,  that  I  thought  there 


40       THE  POLITICAL    UPHOLSTEBEB. 

was  no  reason  to  doubt  of  it.  "  But  why  in 
the  heel,"  says  he,  "  more  than  any  other  part 
of  the  body?"  — "Because,"  said  I,  "the 
bullet  chanced  to  light  there." 

This  extraordinary  dialogue  was  no  sooner 
ended,  but  he  began  to  launch  out  into  a  long 
dissertation  upon  the  affairs  of  the  North  ;  and 
after  having  spent  some  time  on  them,  he  told 
me  he  was  in  great  perplexity  how  to  reconcile 
the  Supplement  with  the  English  Post,  and 
had  been  just  now  examining  what  the  other 
papers  say  upon  the  same  subject,  "The 
Daily  Courant,"  says  he,  "has  these  words: 
'  We  have  advices  from  very  good  hands,  that 
a  certain  prince  has  some  matters  of  great  im- 
portance under  consideration.'  This  is  very 
mysterious ;  but  the  Post-boy  leaves  us  more 
in  the  dark,  for  he  tells  us  '  That  there  are 
private  intimations  of  measures  taken  by  a 
certain  prince,  which  time  will  bring  to  light.' 
Now  the  Postman,"  says  he,  "  who  uses  to  be 
very  clear,  refers  to  the  same  news  in  these 
words  :  '  The  late  conduct  of  a  certain  prince 
affords  great  matter  of  speculation.'  This 
certain  prince,"  says  the  Upholsterer,  "  whom 
they  are  all  so  cautious  of  naming,  I  take  to 

be ."      Upon   which,    though  there   was 

nobody  near  us,  he  whispered  something  in 
my  ear,  which  I  did  not  hear,  or  tliink  worth 
my  while  to  make  him  repeat. 

We  were  now  got  to  the  upper  end  of  the 
mall,  where  were  three  or  four  very  odd  fel- 
lows sitting  together  upon  the  bench.  These 
I  found  were  all  of  them  politicians,  who  used 


THE  POLITICAL    UPHOLSTEBER.       41 

to  sun  themselves  in  that  place  every  day 
about  dinner-time.  Observing  them  to  be 
curiosities  in  their  kind,  and  my  friend's  ac- 
quaintance, I  sat  down  among  them. 

The  chief  poliiician  of  the  bench  was  a  great 
asserter  of  paradoxes.  He  told  us,  with  a 
seeming  concern.  That  by  some  news  he  had 
lately  read  from  Muscovy,  it  appeared  to  him 
that  there  was  a  storm  gathering-  in  the  Black 
Sea,  which  might  in  time  do  hurt  to  the  naval 
forces  of  this  nation.  To  this  he  added,  That 
for  his  part,  he  could  not  wish  to  see  the  Turk 
driven  out  of  Europe,  which  he  believed  could 
not  but  be  prejudicial  to  our  woollen  manufac- 
ture. He  then  told  us,  that  he  looked  upon 
those  extraordinary  revolutions  which  had 
lately  happened  in  those  parts  of  the  world, 
to  have  risen  chiefly  from  two  persons  who 
were  not  much  talked  of  ;  "And  those,"  says 
he,  "  are  Prince  Menzikoflf,  and  the  Duchess 
of  Mii'andola."  He  backed  his  assertions  with 
so  many  broken  hints,  and  such  a  show  of 
depth  and  wisdom,  that  we  gave  ourselves  up 
to  his  opinions. 

The  discourse  at  length  fell  upon  a  point 
which  seldom  escapes  a  knot  of  true-born 
Englishmen,  Whether,  in  case  of  a  religious 
war,  the  Protestants  would  not  be  too  strong 
for  the  Papists  ?  This  we  unanimously  deter- 
mined on  the  Protestant  side.  One  who  sat 
on  my  right  hand,  and,  as  I  found  by  his  dis- 
course, had  been  in  the  West  Indies,  assured 
us  that  it  would  be  a  very  easy  matter  for  the 
Protestants  to  beat  the  Pope  at  sea ;    and 


42       THE  POLITICAL    UPHOLSTEBEB. 

added,  that  whenever  such  a  war  does  break 
out,  it  must  turn  to  tlie  good  of  the  Leeward 
Islands.  Upon  this,  one  who  sat  at  the  end 
of  the  bench,  and  as  I  afterwai'ds  found,  was 
the  geographer  of  the  company',  said,  that  in 
case  the  Papists  should  drive  the  Protestants 
from  these  parts  of  Europe,  when  the  worst 
came  to  the  worst,  it  would  be  impossible  to 
beat  them  out  of  Norway  and  Greenland,  pro- 
vided the  Northern  crowns  hold  together,  and 
the  Czar  of  Muscovy  stand  neuter. 

He  further  told  us,  for  our  comfort,  that 
there  were  vast  tracts  of  land  about  the  Pole, 
inhabited  neither  by  Protestants  nor  Papists, 
and  of  greater  extent  than  all  the  Roman 
Catholic  dominions  in  Europe. 

When  we  had  fully  discussed  this  point,  my 
friend  the  Upholsterer  began  to  exert  himself 
upon  the  present  negotiations  of  peace ;  in 
which  he  deposed  princes,  settled  the  bounds 
of  kingdoms,  and  balanced  the  power  of 
Europe,  with  great  justice  and  impartiality. 

I  at  length  took  my  leave  of  the  company, 
and  was  going  away  ;  but  had  not  gone  thirty 
yards,  before  the  Upholsterer  hemmed  again 
after  me.  Upon  his  advancing  towards  me, 
with  a  whisper,  I  expected  to  hear  some  secret 
piece  of  news,  which  he  had  not  thought  fit  to 
communicate  to  the  bench ;  but  instead  of 
that,  he  desired  me  in  my  ear  to  lend  him  half 
a  crown.  In  compassion  to  so  needy  a  states- 
man, and  to  dissipate  the  confusion  I  found  he 
was  in,  I  told  him,  if  he  pleased.  I  would  give 
him  five  shillings,  to  receive  five  pounds  of 


THE  POLITICAL    UPHOLSTERER.       43 

him  when  the  Great  Tui-k  was  driven  out  of 
Constantinople ;  which  he  very  readily  ac- 
cepted, but  not  before  he  had  laid  down  to  me 
the  impossibility  of  such  an  event,  as  the 
affairs  of  Europe  now  stand. 

This  paper  I  design  for  the  particular  bene- 
fit of  those  worthy  citizens  who  live  more  in  a 
coffee-house  than  in  their  shops,  and  whose 
thoughts  are  so  taken  up  with  the  affairs  of  the 
Allies,  that  they  forget  their  customers. 

April  6, 1710. 


Tatleb.]  N^o.    5.  [Addisok. 

TOM  POLIO. 

Faciunt  nse  intelligendo,  ut  nihil  intelligant.    Ter. 

Tom  Folio  is  a  broker  in  learning,  employed 
to  get  together  good  editions,  and  stock  the 
libraries  of  great  men.  There  is  not  a  sale  of 
books  begins  till  Tom  Folio  is  seen  at  the  door. 
There  is  not  an  auction  where  his  name  is  not 
heard,  and  that  too  in  the  very  nick  of  time, 
in  the  critical  moment,  before  the  last  decisive 
stroke  of  the  hammer.  There  is  not  a  sub- 
scription goes  forward,  in  which  Tom  is  not 
privy  to  the  first  rough  draught  of  the  propo- 
sals ;  nor  a  catalogue  printed,  that  doth  not 
come  to  him  wet  from  the  press.  He  is  an 
universal  scholar,  so  far  as  the  title-page  of 
all  authors,  knows  the  manuscripts  in  which, 
they  were  discovered,  the  editions  through 
which  they  have  passed,  with  the  praises  or 
censures  which  they  have  received  from  the 
several  members  of  the  learned  world.  He 
has  a  greater  esteem  for  Aldus  and  Elzevir, 
than  for  Virgil  and  Horace.  If  you  talk  of 
Herodotus,  he  breaks  out  into  a  panegyric 
upon  Harry  Stephens.  He  thinks  he  gives  you 
an  account  of  an  author  when  he  tells  you  the 
subject  he  treats  of,  the  name  of  the  editor, 
and  the  year  in  which  it  was  printed.    Or  if 


TOM  FOLIO.  45 

you  draw  him  into  further  particulars,  he  cries 
up  the  goodness  of  the  paper,  extols  the  dili- 
gence of  the  corrector,  and  is  transported  with 
the  beauty  of  the  letter.  This  he  looks  upon 
to  be  sound  learning  and  substantial  criticism. 
As  for  those  who  talk  of  the  fineness  of  style, 
and  the  justness  of  thought,  or  describe  the 
brightness  of  any  particular  passages ;  nay, 
though  they  themselves  write  in  the  genius  and 
spirit  of  the  author  they  admire,  Tom  looks 
upon  them  as  men  of  superficial  learning,  and 
flashy  parts. 

I  had  yesterday  morning  a  visit  from  this 
learned  idiot  (for  that  is  the  light  in  which  I 
consider  every  pedant) ;  when  I  discovered  in 
him  some  little  touches  of  the  coxcomb,  which 
I  had  not  before  observed.  Being  very  full  of 
the  figure  which  he  makes  in  the  republic  of 
letters,  and  wonderfully  satisfied  with  his  great 
stock  of  knowledge,  he  gave  me  broad  intima- 
tions, that  he  did  not  believe  in  all  points  as 
his  forefathers  had  done.  He  then  communi- 
cated to  me  a  thought  of  a  certain  author 
upon  a  passage  of  Virgil's  account  of  the  dead, 
which  1  made  the  subject  of  a  late  paper. 
This  thought  hath  taken  very  much  among 
men  of  Tom's  pitch  and  understanding,  though 
universally  exploded  by  all  that  know  how 
to  construe  Virgil,  or  liave  any  reUsh  of  an- 
tiquity. Not  to  trouble  my  reader  with  it,  I 
found  upon  the  whole,  that  Tom  did  not  be- 
lieve a  future  state  of  rewards  and  punish- 
ments, because  ^ueas,  at  his  leaving  the  em- 
pire of  the  dead,  passed  thi'ough  the  Gate  of 


46  TOM  FOLIO. 

Ivory,  and  not  through  that  of  Horn.  Know- 
ing that  Tom  had  not  sense  enough  to  give  up 
an  opinion  which  he  had  once  received,  that  he 
might  avoid  wrangUng,  I  told  him,  that  Virgil 
possibly  had  his  oversights  as  well  as  another 
author.  "Ah!  Mr.  Bickerstaff,"  says  he, 
"you  would  have  another  opinion  of  him,  if 
you  would  read  him  in  Daniel  Heinsius's  edi- 
tion. I  have  perused  him  myself  several  times 
in  that  edition,"  continued  he;  "and  after 
the  strictest  and  most  malicious  examination, 
could  find  but  two  faults  in  him  ;  one  of  them 
is  in  the  ^neids,  where  there  are  two  commas 
instead  of  a  parenthesis ;  and  another  in  the 
third  Georgic,  where  you  may  find  a  semicolon 
turned  upside  down."  —  "Perhaps,"  said  I, 
"  these  were  not  Virgil's  faults,  but  those  of 
the  transcriber,"  —  "  I  do  not  design  it."  says 
Tom,  "  as  a  reflection  on  Virgil :  on  the  con- 
trary, I  know  that  all  the  manuscripts  reclaim 
against  such  a  punctuation.  Oh  !  Mr.  Bicker- 
staff,"  says  he,  "  what  would  a  man  give  to 
see  one  simile  of  Virgil  writ  in  his  own  hand  !" 
I  asked  him  which  was  the  simile  he  meant ; 
but  was  answered,  "  Any  simile  in  Virgil." 
He  then  told  me  all  the  secret  history  in  the 
conunonwealth  of  learning  ;  of  modern  pieces 
that  had  the  names  of  ancient  authors  an- 
nexed to  them ;  of  all  the  books  that  were 
now  writing  or  printing  in  the  several  parts  of 
Europe ;  of  many  amendments  which  are 
made,  and  not  yet  published  ;  and  a  thousand 
other  particulars,  which  I  would  not  have  my 
memory  burdened  with  for  a  Vatican. 


TOM  FOLIO.  47 

At  length,  being  fully  persuaded  that  I 
thoroughly  admired  him,  and  looked  upon  him 
as  a  prodigy  of  learning,  he  took  his  leave.  I 
know  several  of  Tom's  class  who  are  professed 
admirers  of  Tasso,  without  understanding  a 
word  of  Italian  ;  and  one  in  particular,  that 
carries  a  Pastor  Fido  in  his  pocket,  in  which  I 
am  sure  he  is  acquainted  with  no  other  beauty 
but  the  clearness  of  the  character. 

There  is  another  kind  of  pedant,  who  with 
all  Tom  Folio's  impertinences,  hath  greater 
superstructures  and  embellishments  of  Greek 
and  Latin  ;  and  is  still  more  insupportable  than 
the  other,  in  the  same  degree  as  he  is  more 
learned.  Of  this  kind  very  often  are  editors, 
commentators,  interpreters,  scholiasts,  and 
critics;  and,  in  short,  all  men  of  deep  learn- 
ing without  common  sense.  These  persons 
set  a  greater  value  on  themselves  for  hav- 
ing found  out  the  meaning  of  a  passage  in 
Greek,  than  upon  the  author  for  having 
written  it ;  nay,  will  allow  the  passage  it- 
self not  to  have  any  beauty  in  it,  at  the 
same  time  that  they  would  be  considered  as 
the  greatest  men  of  the  age,  for  having  in- 
terpreted it.  They  will  look  with  contempt  on 
the  most  beautiful  poems  that  have  been  com- 
posed by  any  of  their  contemporaries ;  but 
will  lock  themselves  up  in  their  studies  for  a 
twelvemonth  together,  to  correct,  publish,  and 
expound  such  trifles  of  antiquity  as  a  modern 
author  would  be  contemned  for.  Men  of  the 
strictest  morals,  severest  lives,  and  the  gravest 
professions,  will  write  volumes  upon  an  idle 


48  TOM  FOLIO. 

sonnet,  that  is  originally  in  Greek  or  Latin ; 
give  editions  of  the  most  immoral  authors ; 
and  spin  out  whole  pages  upon  the  various 
readings  of  a  lewd  expression.  All  that  can 
be  said  in  excuse  for  them  is,  That  their  works 
sufficiently  shew  they  have  no  taste  of  their 
authors ;  and  tliat  what  they  do  in  this  kind 
is  out  of  their  great  learning,  and  not  out  of 
any  levity  or  lasciviousness  of  temper. 

A  pedant  of  this  nature  is  wonderfully  well 
described  in  six  lines  of  Boileau,  with  which  I 
shall  conclude  his  character  : 

XJn  pedant  enyvr^  de  sa  vaine  science, 
Tout  herisse  de  Grec,  tout  bouffi  d'arrogance, 
Et  qui  de  mille  auteurs  retenus  mot  par  mot, 
Dans  sa  tete  entassez  n'a  souvent  fait  qu'un  sot, 
Oroit  qu'iui  livre  fait  tout,  et  que  sans  Aristote 
La  raison  ne  voit  goutte,  et  le  boa  sens  radote. 

April  13, 1710. 


Tatler.]  No.  Q.  [Addison. 

NED  SOFTLY  THE  POET. 

Idem  inficeto  est  inficetior  rure, 

Simul  poemata  attigit;  neque  idem  uaquam 

jlSque  est  beatus,  ac  poeina  quum  scribit: 

Tarn  gaudct  iu  ee,  tamqiie  se  ipse  miratiir. 

Nimirum  idem  oranes  lalliraur;  neque  est  quisquam 

Quem  non  in  aliqua  re  videre  Suffenuni 

Possis.  .  .  .  Catul. 

I  YESTERDAY  Came  hither  about  two  hours 
before  the  company  generally  make  their  ap- 
pearance, with  a  design  to  read  over  all  the 
newspapers  ;  but  upon  my  sitting  down,  I  was 
accosted  by  Ned  Softly,  who  saw  me  from  a 
corner  in  the  other  end  of  the  room,  where  I 
found  he  had  been  writing  something.  "  Mr. 
Bickerstaft',"  says  he,  "  I  observe  by  a  late 
paper  of  yours,  that  you  and  I  are  just  of  a 
humor ;  for  you  must  know,  of  all  imperti- 
nences, there  is  nothing  which  I  so  much  hate 
as  news.  I  never  read  a  gazette  in  my  life  ; 
and  never  trouble  my  head  about  our  armies, 
whether  they  win  or  lose  ;  or  in  what  part  of 
the  world  they  I'e  encamped."  Without  giv- 
ing me  time  to  reply,  he  drew  a  paper  of 
verses  out  of  his  pocket,  telling  me,  That  he 
had  something  which  would  entertain  me  more 
agreeably  ;  and  that  he  would  desire  my  judg- 
ment upon  every  line,  for  that  we  had  time 
enough  before  us  until  the  company  came  in. 
4 


50  NED  SOFTLY  THE  POET. 

Ned  Softly  is  a  very  pretty  poet,  and  a 
great  admirer  of  easy  lines.  Waller  is  his 
favorite  ;  and  as  that  admirable  writer  has  the 
best  and  worst  verses  of  any  among  our  great 
English  poets,  Ned  Softly  has  got  all  the  bad 
ones  without  book ;  which  he  repeats  upon 
occasion,  to  shew  his  reading,  and  g  irnish  his 
conversation.  Ned  is  indeed  a  true  English 
reader,  incapable  of  relishing  the  great  and 
masterly  strokes  of  this  art ;  but  wonderfully 
pleased  with  the  little  Gothic  ornaments  of 
epigrammatical  conceits,  turns,  points,  and 
quibbles,  which  are  so  frequent  in  the  most 
admired  of  our  English  poets,  and  practised 
by  those  who  want  genius  and  strength  to 
represent,  after  the  manner  of  the  ancients, 
simplicity  in  its  natural  beauty  and  perfection. 

Finding  myself  unavoidably  engaged  in  such 
a  conversation,  I  was  resolved  to  turn  my  pain 
into  a  pleasure,  and  to  divert  myself  as  well 
as  I  could  with  so  very  odd  a  fellow.  "  You 
must  understand,"  says  Ned,  "that  the  son- 
net I  am  going  to  read  to  you  was  written 
upon  a  lady  who  shewed  me  some  verses  of 
her  own  making,  and  is,  perhaps,  the  best  poet 
of  our  age.  But  you  shall  hear  it."  Upon 
which  he  began  to  read  as  follows  : 

TO  MIBA,  ON  HER  INCOMPARABLE  POEMS. 


"When  dress' d  in  laurel  wreaths  you  shine, 
And  tuue  your  soft  melodious  notes, 

You  seem  a  sister  of  the  Nine, 
Or  Phoebas'  self  in  petticoats. 


WSD  SOFTLY  THE  POET.  61 


I  fancy,  when  your  song  you  sing 

(Your  song  you  sing  with  so  much  art), 

Your  pen  was  pluck 'a  from  Cupid's  wing; 
For,  ah !  it  wounds  me  lilce  his  dart. 

"  Why,"  says  I,  "  this  is  a  little  nosegay  of 
conceits,  a  very  lump  of  salt :  every  verse 
hath  something  in  it  that  piques  ;  and  then  the 
Dart  in  the  last  line  is  certainly  as  pretty  a 
sting  in  the  tail  of  an  epigram  (for  so  1  think 
your  critics  call  it)  as  ever  entered  into  the 
thought  of  a  poet."  —  "Dear  Mr.  Bicker- 
staff,"  says  he,  shaking  me  by  the  hand, 
"  everybody  knows  you  to  be  a  judge  of  these 
things ;  and  to  tell  you  truly,  I  read  over 
Roscommon's  translation  of  Horace's  Art  of 
Poetry  three  several  times,  before  I  sat  down  to 
write  the  sonnet  which  I  have  shewn  you.  But 
you  shall  hear  it  again,  and  pray  observe  every 
line  of  it,  for  not  one  of  them  shall  pass  with- 
out your  approbation. 

"When  dress'd  in  laurel  wreaths  you  shine. 

"This  is,"  says  he,  "  when  you  have  your 
garland  on ;  when  you  are  writing  verses." 
To  which  I  replied,  "  I  know  your  meaning  : 
A  metaphor!"  — "The  same,"  said  he,  and 
went  on. 

And  tune  your  soft  melodious  notes. 

"Pray  observe  the  gliding  of  that  verse; 
there  is  scarce  a  consonant  in  it :  I  took  care 
to  make  it  run  upon  liquids.  Give  me  your 
opinion  of  it."  —  "  Truly,"  said  I,  "  I  think 


52  NED  SOFTLY  THE  POET. 

it  as  good  as  the  former."  —  "  I  am  very  glad 
to  hear  you  say  so,"  says  he  ;  "  but  mind  the 
next: 

You  seem  a  sister  of  the  Nine. 

"  That  is,"  says  he,  "  you  seem  a  sister  of 
the  Muses ;  for,  if  you  look  into  ancient 
authors,  you  will  find  it  was  then*  opiuion, 
that  there  were  nine  of  them."  — "  I  remember 
it  very  well,"  said  I:  "  but  pray  proceed." 

Or  Phoebus'  self  in  petticoats. 

"Phoebus,"  says  he,  "was  the  god  of  po- 
etry. These  little  instances,  Mr.  Bickerstafif, 
shew  a  gentleman's  reading.  Then  to  take  off 
from  the  air  of  learning,  which  Phoebus  and 
the  Muses  have  given  to  this  first  stanza,  you 
may  observe  how  it  falls,  all  of  a  sudden,  into 
the  familiar —  '  in  petticoats.'  " 

Or  Phoebus'  self  in  petticoats. 

*'  Let  us  now,"  says  I,  "  enter  upon  the 
second  stanza ;  I  find  the  first  line  is  still  a 
continuation  of  the  metaphor. 

I  fancy,  when  your  song  you  sing." 

"It  is  very  right,"  saj's  he ;  "  but  pray 
observe  the  turn  of  words  in  those  two  lines. 
I  was  a  whole  hour  in  adjusting  of  them,  and 
have  still  a  doubt  upon  me  whether,  in  the 
second  line  it  should  be,  '  Your  soug  you 
sing,'  or,  '  You  sing  your  song.'  You  shall 
hear  them  both :  — 


or, 


NED   SOFTLY  THE  POET.  53 

I  fancy,  when  your  song  you  sing 
(Your  song  you  sing  with  so  much  art) ; 


I  fnncy  when  your  song  you  sing 
(You  sing  your  song  with  so  much  art)." 


"  Truly,"  said  I,  "the  turn  is  so  natural 
either  way,  that  you  have  made  me  almost  giddy 
with  it."  —  "  Dear  sir,"  said  he,  grasping  me 
by  t!.e  hand,  "you  have  a  great  deal  of  pa- 
tience ;  but  pray  what  do  you  think  of  the 
next  verse  ?  — 

Your  pen  was  pluck'd  from  Cupid's  wing." 

"  Think  !  "  says  I ;  "I  think  you  have  made 
Cupid  look  like  a  little  goose." —  "  That  was 
my  meaning,"  says  he  :  "I  think  the  ridicule 
is  well  enough  hit  off.  But  we  come  now  to 
the  last,  which  sums  up  the  whole  matter. 

For,  ah !  it  wounds  me  like  his  dart. 

"  Pray  how  do  you  like  that  ah  f  doth  it  not 
make  a  pretty  figure  in  that  place?  Ah  I  —  it 
looks  as  if  he  felt  the  dart,  and  cried  out  at 
being  pricked  with  it. 

For,  ah !  it  wounds  me  like  his  dart. 

"  My  friend,  Dick  Easy,"  continued  he, 
"  assured  me  he  would  rather  have  written 
that  ah !  than  to  have  been  the  author  of  the 
jfEneid.  He  indeed  objected,  that  I  made 
Mira's  pen  like  a  quill  in  one  of  the  lines,  and 
like  a  dart  in  the  other.  But  as  to  that  —  " 
"  Oh !  as  to  that,"  says  I,  "  it  is  but  supposing 


54  NED   SOFTLY  THE  POET. 

Cupid  to  be  like  a  porcupine,  and  his  quills 
and  darts  will  be  the  same  thing."  He  was 
going  to  embrace  me  for  the  hint ;  but  half  a 
dozen  critics  coming  into  the  room,  whose 
faces  he  did  not  like,  he  conveyed  the  sonnet 
into  his  pocket,  and  whispered  me  in  the  ear, 
he  would  shew  it  me  again  as  soon  as  his  man 
had  written  it  over  fair. 

Apeil  25, 1710. 


Tatleb.]  -  KTo.    7.  [Stebli. 

EECOLLECTIONS  Of  CHILDHOOD. 

.  .  .  Pies,  ni  fallor,  adest,  quem  semper  acerbum, 
Semper  honoratum,  sic  dii  voluistis,  nabebo.     Virff. 

There  are  those  among  mankind,  who  can 
enjoy  no  relish  of  their  being,  except  the 
world  is  made  acquainted  with  all  that  relates 
to  them,  and  think  everything  lost  that  passes 
unobserved  ;  but  others  find  a  solid  delight  in 
stealing  by  the  crowd,  and  modelling  their  life 
after  such  a  manner,  as  is  as  much  above  the 
approbation  as  the  practice  of  the  vulgar. 
Life  being  too  short  to  give  instances  great 
enough  of  true  friendship  or  good-will,  some 
sages  have  thought  it  pious  to  preserve  a  cer- 
tain reverence  for  the  Manes  of  their  deceased 
ftiends  ;  and  have  withdrawn  themselves  from 
tlie  rest  of  the  world  at  certain  seasons,  to 
commemorate  in  their  own  thoughts  such  of 
their  acquaintance  who  have  gone  before  them 
out  of  this  life ;  and  indeed,  when  we  are 
advanced  in  years,  there  is  not  a  more  pleas- 
ing entertainment,  than  to  recollect  in  a 
gloomy  moment  the  many  we  h:ive  parted 
with,  that  have  been  dear  and  agreeable  to  us, 
and  to  cast  a  melancholy  thought  or  two  after 
those,  with  whom,  perhaps,  we  have  indulged 
ourselves  in  whole  nights  of  mirth  and  jollity. 


56     RECOLLECTIONS   OF  CHILDHOOD. 

With  such  inclinations  in  my  heart  I  went  to 
my  closet  yesterday  in  the  evening,  and 
resolved  to  be  sorrowful ;  upon  which  occa- 
sion I  could  not  but  look  with  disdain  upon 
myself,  that  though  all  the  reasons  -which  I 
had  to  lament  the  loss  of  many  of  my  friends 
are  now  as  forcible  as  at.  the  moment  of  their 
departure,  yet  did  not  my  heart  swell  with  the 
same  sorrow  which  I  felt  at  the  time ;  but  I 
could,  without  tears,  reflect  upon  many  pleas- 
ing adventures  I  have  had  with  some,  who 
have  long  been  blended  with  common  earth. 
Though  it  is  by  the  benefit  of  Nature  that 
length  of  time  thus  blots  out  the  violence  of 
afflictions ;  yet  with  tempers  too  much  given 
to  pleasure,  it  is  almost  necessary  to  revive 
the  old  places  of  grief  in  our  memory ;  and 
ponder  step  by  step  on  past  life,  to  lead  the 
mind  into  that  sobriety  of  thought  which 
poises  the  heart,  and  makes  it  beat  with  due 
time,  without  being  quickened  with  desire,  or 
retarded  with  despair,  from  its  proper  and 
equal  motion.  When  we  wind  up  a  clock  that 
is  out  of  order,  to  make  it  go  well  for  the 
future,  we  do  not  immediately  set  the  hand  to 
the  present  instant,  but  we  make  it  strike  the 
round  of  all  its  hours,  before  it  can  recover 
the  regularity  of  its  time.  Such,  thought  I, 
shall  be  my  method  this  evening  ;  and  since  it 
is  thit  day  of  the  year  which  I  dedicate  to  the 
memory  of  such  in  another  life  as  I  much 
delighted  in  when  living,  an  hour  or  two  shall 
be  sacred  to  sorrow  and  their  memory,  while  I 
run  over  all  the  melancholy  circumstances  of 


RECOLLECTIONS   OF  CHILDHOOD.     57 

this  kind  which  have  occurred  to  me  in  my 
whole  life.  v 

The  first  sense  of  sorrow  I  ever  knew  was 
upon  the  death  of  my  father,  at  which  time  I 
was  not  quite  five  years  of  age  ;  but  was  rather 
amazed  at  what  all  the  house  meant,  than  pos- 
sessed with  a  real  understanding  why  nobody 
was  willing  to  play  with  me.  I  remember  I 
went  into  ihe  room  where  his  body  lay,  and 
my  mother  sat  weeping  alone  ])y  it.  I  had  my 
battledoor  in  my  hand,  and  fell  a-beating  the 
coffin,  and  calling  Papa  ;  for,  I  know  not  how, 
I  had  some  slight  idea  that  he  was  locked  up 
there.  My  mother  catched  me  in  her  arms, 
and,  transported  beyond  all  patience  of  the 
silent  grief  she  was  before  in,  she  almost 
smothered  me  in  her  embrace  ;  and  told  me  in 
a  flood  of  tears,  Papa  could  not  hear  me,  and 
would  play  with  me  no  more,  for  they  were 
going  to  put  him  underground,  where  he  could 
never  come  to  us  again.  She  was  a  very  beau- 
tiful woman,  of  a  noble  spirit,  and  there  was 
a  dignity  in  her  grief  amidst  all  the  wildness 
of  her  transport;  which,  methought,  struck 
me  with  an  instinct  of  sorrow,  that  befo:  e  I  was 
sensible  of  what  it  was  to  grieve,  seized  my 
very  soul,  and  has  made  pity  the  weakness  of 
my  heart  ever  since.  The  mind  in  infancy  is, 
methinks,  like  the  body  in  embryo ;  and  receives 
impressions  so  forcible,  that  they  are  as  hard 
to  be  removed  by  reason,  as  any  mark,  with 
which  a  child  is  born,  is  to  be  taken  away  by 
any  future  application.  Hence  it  is,  that  good- 
nature in  me  is  no  merit ;  but  having  been  so 


68     RECOLLECTIONS   OF  CHILDHOOD. 

frequently  overwhelmed  with  her  tears  before 
I  knew  the  cause  of  any  affliction,  or  could 
draw  defences  from  my  own  judgment,  I  im- 
bibed commiseration,  remorse,  and  an  unmanly 
gentleness  of  mind,  which  has  since  ensnared 
me  into  ten  thousand  calamities ;  and  from 
whence  I  can  reap  no  advantage,  except  it  be, 
that,  in  such  a  humor  as  I  am  now  in,  I  can 
the  better  indulge  myself  in  the  softnesses  of 
humanity,  and  enjoy  that  sweet  anxiety  that 
arises  from  the  memory  of  past  afflictions. 

We,  that  are  very  old,  are  better  able  to 
remember  things  which  befell  us  in  our  distant 
youth,  than  the  passages  of  later  dax-s.  For 
this  reason  it  is,  that  the  companions  of  my 
strong  and  vigorous  years  present  themselves 
more  immediately  to  me  in  this  office  of  sor- 
row. Untimely  and  unhappy  deaths  are  what 
we  are  most  apt  to  lament ;  so  little  are  we 
able  to  make  it  indifferent  when  a  thing  hap- 
pens, though  we  know  it  must  happen.  Thus 
we  groan  under  life,  and  bewail  those  who  are 
relieved  from  it.  Every  object  that  returns 
to  our  imagination  raises  different  passions, 
according  to  the  circumstance  of  their  depart- 
ure. Who  can  have  lived  in  an  arm}-,  and  in 
a  serious  hour  reflect  upon  the  many  gay  and 
agreeable  men  that  might  long  have  flourished 
in  the  arts  of  peace,  and  not  join  with  the  im- 
precations of  the  fatherless  and  widow  on  the 
tyrant  to  whose  ambition  they  fell  sacrifices  ? 
But  gallant  men,  who  are  cut  off  by  the  sword, 
move  rather  our  veneration  than  our  pity  ;  and 
we  gather  relief  enough  from  their  own  con- 


BECOLLECTIONS   OF  CHILDHOOD.     69 

tempt  of  death,  to  make  it  no  evil,  which  was 
approached  with  so  much  cheerfulness,  and 
attended  with  so  much  honor.  But  when  we 
turn  our  thoughts  from  the  great  parts  of  life 
on  such  occasions,  and  instead  of  lamenting 
those  who  stood  ready  to  give  death  to  those 
from  whom  they  had  the  fortuue  to  receive  it ; 
I  say,  when  we  let  our  thoughts  wander  f lom 
such  noble  obJ3cts,  and  consider  the  havoc 
which  is  made  among  the  tender  and  the  inno- 
cent, pity  enters  with  an  unmixed  softness, 
and  possesses  all  our  souls  at  once. 

Here  (were  there  words  to  express  such 
sentiments  with  proper  tenderness)  I  should 
record  the  beaut}',  innocence,  and  untimely 
death,  of  the  first  object  my  eyes  ever  beheld 
with  love.  The  beauteous  virgin  !  How  igno- 
rantly  did  she  charm,  how  carelessly  excel ! 
O  Deatli,  thou  hast  right  to  the  bold,  to  the 
ambitious,  to  the  high,  and  to  the  haughty ; 
but  why  this  cruelty  to  the  humble,  to  the 
meek,  to  the  undiscerning,  to  the  thoughtless? 
Nor  age,  nor  business,  nor  distress,  can  erase 
the  dear  image  from  my  imagination.  In  the 
same  week,  I  saw  her  dressed  for  a  ball,  and 
in  a  shroud.  How  ill  did  the  habit  of  Death 
become  the  pretty  trifler !     I  still  behold  the 

smiling  earth A  large  train  of  disasters 

were  coming  on  to  my  memory,  when  my  ser- 
vant knocked  at  my  closet  door,  and  interrupted 
me  with  a  letter,  attended  with  a  hamper  of 
wine,  of  the  same  sort  with  that  which  is  to  be 
put  to  sale  on  Thursday  next,  at  Garraway's 
Coflfee-house.     Upon  the  receipt  of  it,  I  sent 


GO     RECOLLECTIONS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

for  three  of  my  friends.  We  are  so  intimate, 
that  we  can  be  company  in  whatever  state  of 
mind  we  meet,  and  can  entertain  each  other 
without  expecting  always  to  rejoice.  The  wine 
we  found  to  be  generous  and  warming,  but 
with  such  an  heat  as  moved  us  ratlier  to 
be  cheerful  than  frolicsome.  It  revived  the 
spirits,  without  firing  the  blood.  We  com- 
mended it  until  two  of  the  clock  this  morning  ; 
and  having  to-day  met  a  little  before  dinner, 
we  found,  that  though  we  drank  two  bottles  a 
man,  we  had  much  more  reason  to  recollect 
than  forget  what  had  passed  the  night  before. 

June  6, 1710. 


Tatlbb.]  N"o.  8.  [Addisow. 

ADYENTUEES  OF  A  SHILLING. 

Per  varies  casus,  per  tot  discrlmiQa  rernm, 
TendlmuB.  .  .  .  Vlrg. 

I  WAS  last  night  visited  by  a  friend  of  mine 
who  has  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  discourse, 
and  never  fails  to  entertain  his  company  with 
a  variety  of  thoughts  and  hints  that  are  alto- 
gether new  and  uncommon.  Whether  it  were 
in  complaisance  to  my  way  of  living,  or  his  real 
opinion,  he  advanced  the  following  paradox. 
That  it  required  much  greater  talents  to  fill 
up  and  become  a  retired  life,  than  a  life  of 
business.  Upon  this  occasion  he  rallied  very 
agreeably  the  busy  men  of  the  age,  who  only 
valued  themselves  for  being  in  motion,  and 
passing  through  a  series  of  trifling  and  insig- 
nificant actions.  In  the  heat  of  his  discourse, 
seeing  a  piece  of  money  lying  on  my  table  — 
"  I  defy."  says  he,  "any  of  these  active  per- 
sons to  produce  half  the  adventures  that  this 
twelvepenny-piece  has  been  engaged  in,  were 
it  possible  for  him  to  give  us  an  account  of  his 
life." 

My  friend's  talk  made  so  odd  an  impression 
upon  my  mind,  that  soon  after  I  was  abed 
I  fell  insensibly  into  a  most  unaccountable 
revery,  that  had  neither  moral  nor  design  in 


62        ADVENTUBES  OF  A   SHILLINa. 

it,  and  cannot  be  so  properly  called  a  dream 
as  a  delirium. 

Methought  that  the  Shilling  that  lay  upon 
the  table  reared  itself  upon  its  edge,  and  turn- 
ing the  face  towards  me,  opened  its  mouth, 
and  in  a  soft  silver  sound  gave  me  the  fol- 
lowing account  of  his  life  and  adventures  : 

"  I  was  born,"  says  he,  "  on  the  side  of  a 
mountain,  near  a  little  village  of  Peru,  and 
made  a  voyage  to  England  in  an  ingot,  under 
the  convoy  of  Sir  Francis  Drake.  I  was,  soon 
after  my  arrival,  taken  out  of  my  Indian  habit, 
refined,  naturalized,  and  put  into  the  Biitish 
mode,  with  the  face  of  Queen  Elizabeth  on 
one  side,  and  the  arms  of  the  country  on  the 
other.  Being  thus  equipped,  I  found  in  me  a 
wonderful  inclination  to  ramble,  and  visit  all 
parts  of  the  new  world  into  which  I  was 
brought.  The  people  very  much  favored  my 
natural  disposition,  and  shifted  me  so  fast 
from  hand  to  h.md,  that  before  I  was  five 
years  old,  I  had  travelled  into  almost  every 
corner  of  the  nation.  But  in  the  beginning  of 
my  sixth  year,  to  my  unspeakable  grief,  I  fell 
into  the  hands  of  a  miserable  old  fellow,  who 
clapped  me  into  an  iron  chest,  where  I  found 
five  hundred  more  of  my  own  quality,  who  lay 
under  the  same  confinement.  The  only  relief 
we  had,  was  to  be  taken  out  and  counted  over 
ill  the  frtsh  air  every  morning  and  evening. 
After  an  imprisonment  of  several  years,  we 
heard  somebody  knocking  at  our  chest,  and 
breaking  it  open  with  an  hammer.  This  we 
found  was  the  old  man's  heir,  who,  as   his 


ADVENTURES   OF  A  SHILLING.        63 

father  lay  a-dying,  was  so  good  as  to  come  to 
our  release :  he  separated  us  that  very  day. 
What  was  the  fate  of  my  companions  I  know 
not :  as  for  myself,  I  was  sent  to  the  apothe- 
cary's shop  for  a  pint  of  sack.  The  apoth.  cary 
gave  me  to  an  herb  woman,  the  herb  woman 
to  a  butcJaer,  the  butcher  to  a  brewer,  and  the 
brewer  to  his  wife,  who  made  a  present  of 
me  to  a  Non-conformist  preacher.  After  this 
manner  I  made  my  way  merrily  through  the 
world  ;  for,  as  I  told  you  before,  we  Nhillings 
love  nothing  so  much  as  travelling.  I  some- 
times fetched  in  a  shoulder  of  mutton,  some- 
times a  play-book,  jind  often  had  the  satis- 
faction to  treat  a  Templar  at  a  twelvepenny 
ordinary,  or  carry  him  with  three  friends  to 
Westminster  Hall. 

"  In  the  midst  of  this  pleasant  progress, 
which  I  made  from  place  to  place,  I  was  arrested 
by  a  superstitious  old  woman,  who  shut  me 
up  in  a  greasy  purse,  in  pursuance  of  a  foolish 
saying,  that  while  she  kept  a  Queen  Elizabeth's 
Shilling  about  her,  she  should  never  be  with- 
out money.  I  continued  here  a  close  prisoner 
for  many  months,  until  atlast  I  was  exchanged 
for  eight-and-forty  farthings. 

"  I  thus  rambled  from  pocket  to  pocket 
until  the  beginning  of  the  civil  wars,  when,  to 
my  shame  be  it  spoken,  I  was  employed  in 
raising  soldiers  against  the  king  ;  for  being  of 
a  very  tempting  breadth,  a  sorjeant  made  use 
of  me  to  inveigle  country  fellows,  and  list 
them  in  the  service  of  the  parliament. 

"  As  soon  as  he  had  made  one  man  sure, 


64        ADVENTURES   OF  A   SHILLING. 

his  way  was  to  oblige  him  to  take  a  Shilling  of 
a  more  homely  figure,  and  then  practise  the 
same  trick  upon  another.  Thus  I  continued 
doing  great  mischief  to  the  Crown,  until  my 
officer  chancing  one  morning  to  walk  abroad 
earlier  than  ordinary,  sacrificed  me  to  his 
pleasures,  and  made  use  of  me  to  seduce  a 
milkmaid.  This  wench  bent  me,  and  gave 
me  to  her  sweetheart,  apphing  more  properly 
than  she  intended  the  usual  form  of  — '  To 
my  love  and  from  my  love.'  This  ungener- 
ous gallant  marrying  her  within  few  daj'S 
after,  pawned  me  for  a  dram  of  brandy  ;  and 
drinking  me  out  next  day,  I  was  beaten  flat 
with  an  hammer,  and  again  set  a-running. 

*'  After  many  adventures,  which  it  would  be 
tedious  to  relate,  I  was  sent  to  a  young  spend- 
thrift, in  company  with  the  will  of  his  deceased 
father.  The  young  fellow,  who,  I  found,  was 
very  extravagant,  gave  great  demonstrations 
of  joy  at  the  receiving  the  will ;  but  opening 
it,  he  found  himself  disinherited,  and  cut  off 
from  the  possession  of  a  fair  estate  by  virtue 
of  my  being  made  a  present  to  him.  This  put 
him  into  such  a  passion,  that  after  having 
taken  me  in  his  hand,  and  cursed  me,  he 
squirred  me  away  from  him  as  far  as  he  could 
fling  me.  I  chanced  to  light  in  an  unfre- 
quented place  under  a  dead  wall,  where  I  lay 
undiscovered  and  useless,  during  the  usurpa- 
tion of  Oliver  Cromwell. 

*'  About  a  year  after  the  king's  return,  a  poor 
cavalier  that  was  walking  there  about  dinner- 
time, fortunately  cast  his  eye  upon  me,  and, 


ADVENTUBES  OF  A  SHILLING.        65 

to  the  great  joy  of  us  both,  carried  me  to  a 
cook's  shop,  where  he  dined  upon  me,  and 
drank  the  king's  health.  When  I  came  again 
into  the  world,  I  found  that  I  had  been  hap- 
pier in  my  retirement  than  I  thought,  having 
probably  by  that  means  escaped  wearing  a 
monstrous  pair  of  breeches. 

"  Being  now  of  great  credit  and  antiquity,  I 
was  rather  looked  upon  as  a  medal  than  an  or- 
dinary coin  ;  for  which  reason  a  gamester  laid 
hold  of  me  and  converted  me  to  a  counter, 
having  got  together  some  dozens  of  us  for  that 
use.  We  led  a  melancholy  life  in  liis  posses- 
sion, being  busy  at  those  hours  wherein  cur- 
rent coin  is  at  rest,  and  pai  taking  the  fate  of 
our  master ;  being  in  a  few  moments  valued  at 
a  crown,  a  pound  or  a  sixpence,  according  to 
the  situation  in  which  the  fortune  of  the  cards 
placed  us.  I  had  at  length  the  good  luck  to 
see  my  master  break,  by  which  means  I  was 
again  sent  abroad  under  my  primitive  denomi- 
tion  of  a  Shilling. 

"  I  shall  pass  over  man}'  other  accidents  of 
Jess  moment,  and  hasten  to  that  fatal  catas- 
trophe when  I  fell  into  the  hands  of  an  artist, 
who  conveyed  me  under  ground,  and  with  an 
unmerciful  pair  of  shears,  cut  off  my  titles, 
clipped  my  brims,  retrenched  my  shape, 
rubbed  me  to  ^  inmost  ring  ;  and  in  short,  so 
spoiled  and  pillaged  me,  that  he  did  not  leave 
me  worth  a  groat.  You  may  think  what  a 
confusion  I  was  in  to  see  myself  thus  curtailed 
and  disfigured.  I  should  have  been  ashamed 
to  have  shewn  my  head,  had  not  all  my  old  ac- 
6 


66        ADVENTUBES  OF  A  SMILLING. 

quaintance  been  reduced  to  the  same  shameful 
figure,  excepting  some  few  that  were  punched 
through  the  belly.  In  the  midst  of  this  gen- 
eral calamity,  when  evirybod}'  thought  our  mis- 
fortune irretrievable,  and  our  case  desperate, 
■we  were  thrown  into  the  furnace  together,  and 
(as  it  often  happens  with  cities  rising  out  of  a 
fire)  appeared  with  greater  beaut}^  and  lustre 
than  we  could  ever  boast  of  before.  What 
has  happened  to  me  since  this  change  of  sex 
which  you  now  see,  I  shall  take  some  other 
opportunity  to  relate.  In  the  mean  time  I 
shall  only  repeat  two  adventures  ;  as  being  very 
extraordinary,  and  neither  of  them  having  ever 
happened  to  me  above  once  in  my  life.  The 
first  was,  my  being  in  a  poet's  pocket,  who 
was  so  taken  with  the  brightness  and  novelty 
of  my  appearance,  that  it  gave  occasion  to  the 
finest  burlesque  poem  in  the  British  language, 
intituled  from  me,  '  The  Splendid  Shilling.' 
The  second  adventure,  which  I  must  not  omit, 
happened  to  me  in  the  year  one  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  three,  when  I  was  given 
away  in  charity  to  a  blind  man ;  but  indeed 
this  was  by  a  mistake,  the  person  who  gave  me 
having  heedlessly  thrown  me  into  the  hat 
among  a  pennyworth  of  farthings." 

Nov.  11, 1710. 


Tatleb.]  No,    Q.  [ABDisoa. 

FEOZEN  YOICES. 

Splendide  mendax.    .    .    .    ITor. 

There  are  no  books  which  I  more  delight 
in  than  in  Travels,  especially  those  that 
describe  remote  countries,  and  give  the  writer 
an  opportunity  of  shewing  his  parts  without 
incurring  any  danger  of  being  examined  or 
contradicted.  Among  all  the  authors  of  this 
kind,  our  renowned  countryman,  Sir  John 
Mandeville,  has  distinguished  himself  by  the 
copiousness  of  his  invention,  and  greatness  of 
his  genius.  The  second  to  Sir  John  I  take  to 
have  been  Fei-dinand  Mendez  Pinto,  a  person 
of  infinite  adventure,  and  unbounded  imagina- 
tion. One  reads  the  voyages  of  these  two 
great  wits  with  as  much  astonishment  as  the 
Travels  of  Ulysses  in  Homer,  or  of  the  Red- 
Cross  Knight  in  Spenser.  All  is  enchanted 
ground  and  fairy  land. 

I  have  got  into  my  hand,  by  great  chance, 
several  manuscripts  of  these  two  eminent 
authors,  which  are  filled  with  greater  wonders 
than  any  of  those  they  have  communicated  to 
the  public  ;  and  indeed,  were  they  not  so  well 
attested,  would  appear  altogether  improbable. 
I  am  apt  to  think  the  ingenious  authors  did 
not  publish  them  with  the  rest  of  their  works, 


68  FBOZEN  VOICES. 

lest  they  should  pass  for  fictions  and  fables : 
a  caution  not  unnecessary,  when  the  reputa- 
tion of  their  veracity  was  not  yet  established 
in  the  world.  But  as  this  reason  has  now  no 
further  weight,  I  shall  make  the  public  a  pres- 
ent of  these  curious  pieces  at  such  times  as  I 
shall  find  myself  unprovided  with  other  sub- 
jects. 

The  present  paper  I  intend  to  fill  with  an 
extract  of  Sir  John's  Journal,  in  which  that 
learned  and  worthy  knight  gives  an  account  of 
the  freezing  and  thawing  of  several  short 
speeches,  which  he  made  in  the  territories  of 
Nova  Zembla.  I  need  not  inform  my  reader, 
that  the  author  of  Hudibras  alludes  to  this 
strange  quality  in  that  cold  climate,  when, 
speaking  of  abstracted  notions  clothed  in  a 
visible  shape,  he  adds  that  apt  simile — 

Like  words  congeal'd  in  northern  air. 

Not  to  keep  my  reader  any  longer  in  sus- 
pense, the  relation,  put  into  modern  language, 
is  as  follows  : 

"We  were  separated  by  a  storm  in  the  lati- 
tude of  73°,  iusomuch  that  only  the  ship 
which  I  was  in,  with  a  Dutch  and  French  ves- 
sel, got  safe  into  a  creek  of  Nova  Zembla. 
We  landed  in  order  to  refit  our  vessels,  and 
store  ourselves  with  provisions.  The  crew  of 
each  vessel  made  themselves  a  cabin  of  turf 
and  wood,  at  some  distance  from  each  other, 
to  fence  themselves  against  the  inclemencies 
of  the  weather,  which  was  severe  beyond 
imagination.     We  soon  observed,  that  in  talk- 


FROZEN   VOICES.  69 

ing  to  one  another  we  lost  several  of  our 
words,  and  could  not  hear  one  another  at 
above  two  yards'  distance,  and  that  too  when 
we  sat  very  near  the  fire.  After  much  per- 
plexity, I  found  that  our  words  froze  in  the 
air,  before  they  could  reach  the  ears  of  the 
persons  to  whom  they  were  spoken.  I  was 
soon  confirmed  in  the  conjecture,  when,  upon 
the  increase  of  the  cold,  the  whole  company 
grew  dumb,  or  rather  deaf ;  for  every  man 
was  sensible,  as  we  afterwards  found,  that  he 
spoke  as  well  as  ever ;  but  the  sounds  no 
sooner  took  air,  than  they  were  condensed 
and  lost.  It  was  now  a  miserable  spectacle 
to  see  us  nodding  and  gapiug  at  one  another, 
every  man  talking,  and  no  man  heard.  One 
might  observe  a  seaman,  that  could  hail  a  ship 
at  a  league's  distance,  beckoning  with  his 
hands,  straining  his  lungs,  and  tearing  his 
throat ;  but  all  in  vain. 

.  .  .  Nee  vox,  nee  verba,  sequuntur. 

"  We  continued  here  three  weeks  in  this  dis- 
mal plight.  At  length,  upon  a  turn  of  wind, 
the  air  about  us  began  to  thaw.  Our  cabin 
was  immediately  filled  with  a  dry  clattering 
sound,  which  I  afterwards  found  to  be  the 
crackling  of  consonants  that  broke  above  our 
heads,  and  were  often  mixed  with  a  gentle 
hissing,  which  I  imputed  to  the  letter  S,  that 
occurs  so  frequently  in  the  English  tongue.  I 
soon  after  felt  a  breeze  of  whispers  rushing 
by  my  ear ;  for  those  being  of  a  soft  and 
gentle    substance,    immediately    liquefied    in 


70  FBOZEN  VOICES. 

the  warm  wind  that  blew  across  our  cabin. 
These  were  soon  followed  by  syllables  and 
short  words,  and  at  length  by  entire  sen- 
tences, that  melted  sooner  or  later  as  they 
were  more  or  less  congealed  ;  so  that  we  now 
heard  everything  that  had  been  spoken  during 
the  whole  three  weeks  that  we  had  been  site7it, 
if  I  may  use  that  expression.  It  was  now 
very  early  in  the  morning,  and  yet  to  my  sur- 
prise, I  heard  somebody  say,  '  Sir  John,  it  is 
midnight  and  time  for  the  ship's  crew  to  go 
to  bed.'  This  I  knew  to  be  the  pilot's  voice, 
and  upon  recollecting  mjself,  I  concluded 
that  he  had  spoken  these  words  to  me  some 
days  before,  though  I  could  not  hear  them 
until  the  present  thaw.  My  reader  will  easily 
imagine  how  the  whole  crew  was  amazed  to 
hear  every  man  talking  and  see  no  man  open 
his  mouth.  In  the  midst  of  this  great  sur- 
prise we  were  all  in,  we  heaj-d  a  volley  of 
oaths  and  curses,  lasting  for  a  long  while,  and 
uttered  in  a  very  hoarse  voice,  which  I  knew 
belonged  to  the  boatswain,  who  was  a  very 
choleric  fellow,  and  had  taken  his  oppor:  unity 
of  cursing  and  swearing  at  me  when  he 
thought  I  could  not  hear  him ;  for  I  had  sev- 
eral times  given  him  the  strappado  on  that 
account,  as  I  did  not  fail  to  repeat  it  for  these 
his  pious  soliloquies,  when  I  got  him  on  ship- 
board. 

"  I  must  not  omit  the  names  of  several 
beauties  in  "Wapping,  which  were  heard  every 
now  and  then,  in  the  midst  of  a  long  sigh  that 
accompanied  them  ;  as  '  Dear  Kate  ! '  '  Pretty 


FBOZEN    VOICES.  71 

Mrs.  Peggy ! '  '  "When  shall  I  see  my  Sue 
again  ?  '  This  betrayed  several  amours  which 
had  been  concealed  until  that  time,  and  fur- 
nished us  with  a  great  deal  of  mirth  in  our 
return  to  England. 

"  When  this  confusion  of  voices  was  pretty 
well  over,  though  I  was  afraid  to  offer  at 
speaking,  as  fearing  I  should  not  he  heard,  I 
proposed  a  visit  to  the  Dutch  cabin,  which  lay 
about  a  mile  further  up  into  the  country.  My 
crew  were  extremely  rejoiced  to  find  they  had 
again  recovered  their  hearing ;  though  every 
man  uttei*ed  his  voice  with  the  same  appre- 
hensions that  I  had  done  — 

Et  timide  verba  intermissa  retentat. 

"  At  about  half  a  mile's  distance  from  our 
cabin,  we  heard  the  groanings  of  a  bear, 
which  at  first  startled  us ;  but  upon  inquiry, 
we  were  informed  by  some  of  our  company 
that  he  was  dead,  and  now  lay  in  salt,  having 
been  killed  upon  that  very  spot  about  a  fort- 
night before,  in  the  time  of  the  frost.  Not 
far  from  the  same  place,  we  were  likewise 
entertained  with  some  posthumous  snarls  and 
barkings  of  a  fox. 

"We  at  length  arrived  at  the  little  Dutch 
settlement;  and  upon  entering  the  room, 
found  it  filled  with  sighs  that  smelt  of  brandy, 
and  several  other  unsavory  sounds,  that  were 
altogether  inarticulate,  ily  valet,  who  was 
an  Irishman,  fell  into  so  great  a  rage  at  what 
he  heard,  %\iQX  he  drew  his  sword ;  but  not 
knowing  where  to  lay  the  blame,  he  put  it  up 


72  FROZEN   VOICES. 

again.  We  were  stunned  with  these  con- 
fused noises,  but  did  not  hear  a  single  word 
until  about  half  an  hour  after;  which  I 
ascribed  to  the  harsh  and  obdurate  sounds 
of  that  language,  which  wanted  more  time 
than  ours  to  melt  and  become  audible. 

"  After  having  here  met  with  a  very  hearty 
welcome,  we  went  to  the  cabin  of  the  French, 
who,  to  make  amends  for  their  three  weeks' 
silence,  were  talking  and  disputing  with 
greater  rapidity  and  confusion  than  ever  I 
heard  in  an  assembly  even  of  that  nation. 
Their  language,  as  I  found,  upon  the  first  giv- 
ing of  the  weather,  fell  asunder  and  dissolved. 
I  was  here  convinced  of  an  error,  into  which  I 
had  before  fallen  ;  for  I  fancied  that,  for  the 
freezing  of  the  sound,  it  was  necessary  for  it 
to  be  wrapped  up  and,  as  it  were,  preserved 
in  breath :  but  I  found  my  mistake,  when  I 
heard  the  sound  of  a  kit  playing  a  minuet  over 
our  heads.  I  asked  the  occasion  of  it ;  upon 
which  one  of  the  company  told  me,  it  would 
play  there  above  a  week  longer,  if  the  thaw 
continued ;  '  for,'  says  he,  '  finding  our- 
selves bereft  of  speech,  we  prevailed  upon 
one  of  the  company,  who  had  this  musical 
instrument  about  him,  to  play  to  us  from 
morning  to  night ;  all  which  time  we  employed 
in  dancing,  in  order  to  dissipate  our  chagrin, 
et  tuer  le  temps.' " 

Here  Sir  John  gives  very  good  philosoph- 
ical reasons  why  the  kit  could  not  be  heard 
during  the  frost ;  bat  as  they  are  sometliing 
prolix,  I  pass  them  over  in  silence,  and  shall 


FROZEN   VOICES.  73 

only  observe,  thtit  the  honorable  author  seems 
by  his  quotations  to  have  been  well  versea  in 
the  ancient  poets,  which  perhaps  raised  his 
fancy  above  the  ordinary  pitch  of  historians, 
and  very  much  contributed  to  the  embellish- 
ment of  his  writings. 

Nov,  23,  1710. 


Spectator.]  No.  lO.  [Addisok. 

STAGE  IIONS. 

Dicmibi,  si  fueris  tu  leo,  qnalis  eris?    Mart. 

There  is  nothing  that  of  late  years  has 
afforded  matter  of  greater  amusement  to  the 
town  than  Signior  Nieolini's  combat  with  a 
Lion  in  the  Haymarket,  which  has  been  very 
often  exhibited  to  the  general  satisfaction  of 
most  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  in  the  king- 
dom of  Great  Britain.  Upon  the  first  rumor 
of  this  intended  combat,  it  was  confidently 
affirmed,  and  is  still  believed  by  many  in  both 
galleries,  that  there  would  be  a  tame  lion  sent 
from  the  Tower  every  opera  night,  in  order  to 
be  killed  by  Hydaspes,  This  report,  though 
altogether  groundless,  so  universally  prevailed 
in  the  upper  regions  of  the  playhouse,  that 
some  of  the  most  refined  politicians  in  those 
parts  of  the  audience  gave  it  out  in  whisper, 
that  the  Lion  was  a  cousin -gei'man  of  the  Tiger 
who  made  his  appearance  in  King  William's 
days,  and  that  the  stage  would  be  supplied 
with  lions  at  the  public  expense  during  the 
whole  session.  Many  likewise  were  the  con- 
jectures of  the  treatment  which  this  Lion  was 
to  meet  with  from  the  hands  of  Signior  Nico- 
lini :  some  supposed  that  he  was  to  subdue  him 
in  recitativo,  as  Orpheus  used  to  serve  the  wild 
beasts  in  his  time,  and  afterwards  to   knock 


STAGE  LIONS.  75 

him  on  the  head  ;  some  fancied  that  the  Lion 
would  not  pretend  to  lay  his  paws  upon  the 
hero,  by  reason  of  the  received  opinion,  that  a 
Lion  will  not  hurt  a  Virgin.  Several,  who 
pretended  to  have  seen  the  opera  in  Italy,  had 
informed  their  friends,  that  the  Lion  was  to 
act  a  part  in  High-Dutch,  and  roar  twice  or 
thrice  to  a  thorough-bass,  before  he  fell  at  the 
feet  of  Hydaspes.  To  clear  up  a  matter  that 
was  so  variously  reported,  I  have  made  it  my 
business  to  examine  whether  this  pretended 
Lion  is  really  the  savage  he  appears  to  be,  or 
only  a  counterfeit. 

But  before  I  communicate  my  discoveries,  I 
must  acquaint  the  reader,  that  upon  my  walking 
behind  the  scenes  last  winter,  as  I  was  think- 
ing on  something  else,  I  accidentally  justled 
against  a  monstrous  animal  that  extremely 
startled  me,  and,  upon  ray  nearer  survey  of  it, 
appeared  to  be  a  Lion-Rampant.  The  Lion, 
seeing  me  very  much  surprised,  told  me,  in  a 
gentle  voice,  that  I  might  come  by  him  if  I 
pleased  —  "For,"  says  he,  "I  do  not  intend 
to  hurt  anybody."  I  thanked  him  very  kindly, 
and  passed  by  him  ;  and  m  a  little  time  after 
saw  him  leap  upon  the  stage,  and  act  his  part 
with  very  great  applause.  It  has  been  observed 
by  several,  that  the  Lion  has  changed  his  man- 
ner of  acting  twice  or  thrice  since  liis  first  ap- 
pearance ;  which  will  not  seem  strange,  when 
I  acquaint  ray  reader  that  the  Lion  has  been 
changed  upon  the  audience  three  several  times. 
The  first  Lion  was  a  Candle-snuffer,  who  being 
a  fellow  of  a  testy,  choleric  temper,  overdid 


76  STAGE  LIONS. 

his  part,  and  would  not  suffer  himself  to  be 
killed  so  easily  as  he  ought  to  have  done ; 
besides,  it  was  observed  of  him,  that  he  grew 
more  surly  every  time  he  came  out  of  the  Lion  ; 
and  having  dropt  some  words  in  ordinary  con- 
versation, as  if  he  had  not  fought  his  best, 
and  that  he  suffered  himself  to  be  thrown  upon 
his  back  in  the  scuffle,  and  that  he  would 
wrestle  with  Mr.  Nicolini  for  what  he  pleased, 
out  of  his  Lion's  skin,  it  was  thought  proper 
to  discard  him  ;  and  it  is  verily  believed,  to 
this  day,  that  had  he  been  brought  upon 
the  stage  another  time,  he  would  certainly 
have  done  mischief.  Besides,  it  was  objected 
against  the  first  Lion,  that  he  reared  himself 
so  high  upon  his  hinder  paws,  and  walked  in 
so  erect  a  posture,  that  he  looked  more  like  an 
old  Man  than  a  Lion. 

The  second  Lion  was  a  Tailor  by  trade,  who 
belonged  to  the  playhouse,  and  liad  the  char- 
acter of  a  mild  and  peaceable  man  in  his  pro- 
fession. If  the  former  was  too  furious,  this 
was  too  sheepish,  for  his  part ;  insomuch  that, 
after  a  short  modest  walk  upon  the  stage,  he 
would  fall  at  the  first  touch  of  Hydaspes,  with- 
out grappling  with  him,  and  giving  him  an  op- 
portunity of  s'.ewing  his  variety  of  Italian 
trips  :  it  is  said  indeed,  that  he  once  gave  him 
a  rip  in  his  flesh-colored  doublet ;  but  this  was 
only  to  make  work  for  himself,  in  his  private 
character  of  a  Tailor.  I  must  not  omit  that 
it  was  this  second  Lion  who  treated  me  with 
so  much  humanity  behind  the  scenes. 

The  acting  Lion  at  present  is,  as  I  am  in- 


STAGE  LIONS.  77 

formed,  a  Country  Gentleman,  who  does  it  for 
his  diversion,  but  desires  his  name  may  be 
concealed.  He  says  very  handsomely  iu  his 
own  excuse,  that  he  does  not  act  for  gain ; 
that  he  indulges  an  innocent  pleasure  in  it ; 
and  that  it  is  better  to  pass  away  an  evening 
in  t'.iis  manner,  than  in  gaming  and  drinking  ; 
but  at  the  same  time  says,  with  a  very  agree- 
able raillery  upon  himself,  that  if  his  name 
should  be  known,  the  ill-natured  world  might 
call  him  the  Ass  in  the  Lion's  skin.  This  gen- 
tleman's temper  is  made  of  such  a  happy  mix-, 
ture  of  the  mild  and  the  choleric,  that  he 
outdoes  both  his  predecessors,  and  has  drawn 
together  greater  audiences  than  have  been 
known  in  the  memory  of  man. 

I  must  not  conclude  my  narrative,  without 
taking  notice  of  a  groundless  report  that  h  is 
been  raised,  to  a  gentleman's  disadvantage,  of 
whom  I  must  declare  myself  an  admirer ; 
namely,  that  Signior  Nicolini  and  the  Lion 
have  been  sitting  peaceably  by  one  another, 
and  smoking  a  pipe  together,  behind  the 
scenes  ;  by  which  their  common  enemies  would 
insinuate,  it  is  but  a  sham  combat  which  they 
represent  upon  the  stage  ;  but  upon  enquiry  I 
find,  that  if  any  such  correspondence  has 
passed  between  them,  it  was  not  till  the  com- 
bat was  over,  when  the  Lion  was  to  be  looked 
upon  as  dead,  according  to  the  received  rules 
of  the  Drama.  Besides  this  is  what  is  prac- 
tised every  day  in  Westminster  Hall,  where 
nothing  is  more  usual  than  to  see  a  couple  of 
lawyers,  who  have  been  tearing  each  other  to 


78  STAGE  LIONS. 

pieces  in  the  court,  embracing  one  another  as 
soon  as  they  are  out  of  it. 

I  would  not  be  thought,  in  any  part  of  this 
relation,  to  reflect  upon  Signior  Nicolini,  who 
in  acting  this  part  only  complies  with  the 
wretched  taste  of  his  audience ;  he  knows  very 
well,  that  the  Lion  has  many  more  admirers 
than  him-elf  ;  as  they  say  of  the  famous  eques- 
trian statue  on  the  Pont-Neuf  at  Paris,  that 
more  people  go  to  see  the  horse,  than  the 
king  who  sits  upon  it.  On  the  contrar}',  it 
gives  me  a  just  indignation  to  see  a  person 
whose  action  gives  new  majesty  to  kings,  res- 
olution to  heroes,  and  softness  to  lovers,  thus 
sinking  from  the  greatness  of  his  behavior, 
and  degraded  into  the  character  of  the  Lon- 
don 'Prentice.  I  have  often  wished,  that  our 
tragedians  would  copy  after  this  great  master 
in  action.  Could  they  make  the  same  use  of 
their  arms  and  legs,  and  inform  their  faces 
with  as  significant  looks  and  passions,  how 
glorious  would  an  English  tragedy  appear  with 
that  action,  which  is  capable  (>f  giving  a  dig- 
nity to  the  forced  thoughts,  cold  conceits,  and 
unnatur  d  expressions  of  an  Italian  opera  ! 
In  the  mean  time,  I  have  related  this  combat 
of  the  Lion,  to  shew  what  are  at  present  the 
reigning  entertainments  of  the  politer  part  of 
Great  Britain. 

Audiences  have  often  been  reproached  by 
writers  for  the  coarseness  of  their  taste  ;  but 
our  present  grievance  does  not  seem  to  be  the 
want  of  a  good  taste,  but  of  common  sense. 

Mabch  15,  1711. 


Spectator.  J  "No.  XI-  [Addisoh. 

MEDITATIONS  IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 

Pallida  mors  cequo  pulsat  pede  paup'erum  tabernas 

Hegumque  turres.     O  beate  Sesti, 
Vitse  Biimma  brevis  spem  nos  vetat  inchoare  longam. 

Jam  te  premet  iiox,  fabulieque  manes, 
Et  domus  oxilis  I'lutonia.  .  .  .  Bbr. 

■  "When  I  am  in  a  serious  humor,  I  very 
oftea  walk  by  myself  in  Westminster  A])bey  ; 
where  tlie  gloominess  of  the  place,  and  the  use 
to  which  it  is  applied,  with  the  solemnity  of 
the  building,  and  the  condition  of  the  people 
who  lie  in  it,  are  npt  to  fill  the  mind  with  a 
kind  of  melancholy,  or  rather,  thoughtfulness, 
that  is  not  disagreeable.  I  yesterday  passed 
a  whole  afternoon  in  the  church-yard,  the  clois- 
tei  s,  and  the  church,  amusing  myself  with  the 
tombstones  and  inscriptions. that  I  met  with  in 
those  several  regions  of  the  dead.  Most  of 
them  recorded  nothing  e'se  of  the  buried  per- 
son, but  that  he  was  born  upon  one  day,  and 
died  upon  another :  the  whole  history  of  his 
life  being  comprehended  in  those  two  circum- 
stances, that  jire  common  to  all  mankind.  I 
could  not  but  look  upon  these  registers  of  exist- 
ence, whether  of  brass  or  marble,  as  a  kind 
of  satire  upon  the  departed  persons  ;  who  had 
left  no  other  memorial  of  them,  but  that  they 
were  born  and  that  they  died.  They  put  me 
in  mind  of  several  persons  mentioned  in  the 


80  MEDITATIONS  IN 

battles  of  heroic  poems,  who  have  sounding 
names  given  them,  for  no  other  reason  but 
that  they  may  be  killed,  and  are  celebrated 
for  nothing  but  being  knoclced  on  the  head. 

TKuivKOv  re,  MeSdira  t«,  &ep<TiXox6v  re. 

Glancamque,  Medontaqiie,  Thersilochumque. 

The  life  of  these  men  is  finely  described  in 
Holy  "Writ  by  "  the  path  of  an  arrow,"  which 
is  immediately  closed  up  and  lost. 

Upon  my  going  into  the  church,  I  enter- 
tained myself  with  the  digging  of  a  grave  ;  and 
saw  in  every  shovelful  of  what  was  thrown  up, 
the  fragment  of  a  bone  or  skull  intermixed 
with  a  kind  of  fresh  mouldering  earth  that 
some  time  or  other  had  a  place  in  the  compo- 
sition of  a  human  bod}-.  Upon  this  I  began 
to  consider  with  myself,  what  innumerable 
multitudes  of  people  lay  confused  together 
under  the  pavement  of  that  ancient  cathedral ; 
how  men  and  women,  friends  and  enemies, 
priests  and  soldiers,  monks  and  prebendaries, 
were  crumbled  amongst  one  another,  and 
blended  together  in  the  same  common  mass ; 
how  beauty,  strength,  and  youth,  with  old  age, 
weakness,  and  deformity,  lay  undistinguished 
in  the  same  promiscuous  heap  of  matter. 

After  ha-s-ing  thus  surveyed  this  great  mag- 
azine of  mortality,  as  it  were  in  the  lump,  I 
examined  it  more  particularly  by  the  accounts 
which  I  found  on  several  of  the  monuments 
which  are  raised  in  everj'  quarter  of  that  an- 
cient fabric.    Some  of  them  were  covered  with 


WE8TMIN8TEB  ABBEY.  81 

such  extravagant  epitaphs,  that,  if  it  were  pos- 
sible for  the  person  to  be  acquainted  with 
them,  he  would  blush  at  the  praises  which  his 
friends  have  bestowed  upon  him.  There  are 
others  so  excessively  modest,  that  they  deliver 
the  character  of  the  person  departed  in  Greek 
or  Hebrew,  and  by  that  means  are  not  under- 
stood once  in  a  twelvemonth.  In  the  poetical 
quarter,  I  found  there  were  poets  who  had  no 
monuments,  and  monuments  which  had  no 
poets.  I  observed  indeed  that  the  present 
war  had  filled  the  church  with  many  of  these 
uninhabited  monuments,  which  had  been 
erected  to  the  memory  of  persons  whose 
bodies  were  perhaps  buried  in  the  plains  of 
Blenheim,  or  in  the  bosom  of  the  ocean. 

I  could  not  but  be  very  much  delighted  with 
several  modern  epitaphs,  which  are  written 
with  great  elegance  of  expression  and  just- 
ness of  thought,  and  therefore  do  honor  to 
the  living  as  well  as  the  dead.  As  a  for- 
eigner is  very  apt  to  conceive  an  idea  of  the 
ignorance  or  politeness  of  a  nation  from  the 
turn  of  their  public  monuments  and  inscrip- 
tions, they  should  be  submitted  to  the  perusal 
of  men  of  learning  and  genius  before  they  are 
put  in  execution.  SirCloudesly  Shovel's  mon- 
ument has  very  often  given  me  offence ;  in- 
stead of  the  brave,  rough  English  admiral, 
which  was  the  distinguishing  character  of  that 
plain  gallant  man,  he  is  represented  on  his 
tomb  by  the  figure  of  a  beau,  dressed  in  a 
long  periwig,  and  reposing  himself  upon  vel- 
vet cushions  under  a  canopy  of  state.  The 
6 


82  MEDITATIONS  IN 

inscription  is  answerable  to  the  monument ; 
for  instead  of  celebrating  the  many  remarka- 
ble actions  he  had  performed  in  the  service  of 
his  country,  it  acquaints  us  only  with  the  man- 
ner of  his  death,  in  which  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  reap  any  honor.  The  Dutch,  whom 
we  are  apt  to  despise  for  want  of  genius,  shew 
an  infinitely  greater  taste  of  antiquity  and 
politeness  in  their  buildings  and  works  of  this 
nature,  than  what  we  meet  with  in  those  of 
our  own  country.  The  monuments  of  their 
admirals,  which  have  been  erected  at  the  pub- 
lic expense,  represent  them  like  themselves ; 
and  are  adornecl  with  rostral  crowns  and  naval 
ornaments,  with  beautiful  festoons  of  sea- 
weed, shells,  and  coral. 

But  to  return  to  our  subject.  I  have  left  the 
repository  of  our  English  kings  for  the  con- 
templation of  another  day,  when  I  shall  find 
my  mind  disposed  for  so  serious  an  amusement. 
I  know  that  entertainments  of  this  nature  are 
apt  to  raise  dark  and  dismal  thoughts  in  tim- 
orous minds  and  gloomy  imaginations ;  but 
for  my  own  part,  though  I  am  always  serious, 
I  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  be  melancholy ; 
and  can,  therefore,  take  a  view  of  Nature,  in 
her  deep  and  solemn  scenes,  with  the  same 
pleasure  as  in  her  most  gay  and  delightful  ones. 
By  this  means  I  can  improve  myself  with 
those  objects,  which  others  consider  with  ter- 
ror. When  I  look  upon  the  tombs  of  the 
great,  every  emotion  of  e:ivy  dies  in  me ; 
when  I  read  the  epitaphs  of  the  beautiful, 
every  inordinate  desire  goes  out ;  when  I  meet 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY.  83 

with  tbi  grief  of  parents  upon  a  tombstone, 
my  heart  melts  with  compassion  ;  when  I  see 
the  tomb  of  the  parents  themselves,  I  consider 
the  vanity  of  grieving  for  those  whom  we 
must  quickly  follow ;  when  I  see  kings  lying 
by  those  \\ho  deposed  them,  when  I  consider 
rival  wits  placed  side  by  e-ide,  or  the  holy  men 
that  drv'ided  the  world  with  their  contests  and 
disputes,  I  reflect  with  sorrow  and  astonish- 
ment on  the  little  competitions,  factions,  and 
debates  of  mankind.  When  I  read  the  sev- 
eral dates  of  the  tombs,  of  some  that  died 
yesterday,  and  some  six  hundred  years  ago,  I 
consider  that  great  day  when  we  shall  all  of  us 
be  contemporaries,  and  make  our  appearance 
together. 

March  30, 1711. 


Spkctator.]  No.  IS.  [Addison. 

THE  EXERCISE  OF  THE  FAN. 

.  .  .  Lusas  animo  debent  aliqaando  dari. 

Ad  cogitandum  melior  ut  redeat  sibi.    Phatdr. 

I  DO  not  know  whether  to  call  the  follow- 
ing letter  a  satire  upon  coquettes,  or  a  repre- 
sentation of  their  several  fantastical  accom- 
plishments, or  what  other  title  to  give  it ;  but 
as  it  is  I  shall  communicate  it  to  the  public. 
It  will  sufficiently  explain  its  own  intentions, 
so  that  I  shall  give  it  my  reader  at  length, 
without  either  preface  or  postscript.- 

3/r.  Spectator,  —  Women  are  armed  with 
fans  as  men  with  swords,  and  sometimes  do 
more  execution  with  them.  To  the  end  there- 
fore that  ladies  may  be  entire  mistresses  of  the 
weapon  which  they  bear,  I  have  erected  au 
academy  for  the  training  up  of  young  women 
in  the  ''Exercise  of  the  Fan,"  according  to 
the  most  fashionable  airs  and  motions  that 
are  now  practised  at  court.  The  ladies  who 
"  carry"  fans  under  me  are  drawn  up  twice  a 
day  in  my  great  hall,  where  they  are  instructed 
in  the  use  of  their  arms,  and  exercised  by  the 
following  words  of  command : 

Handle  your  fans, 
Unfurl  your  fans, 
Discharge  your  fans. 
Ground  your  fans, 
Recover  your  fans, 
Flutter  your  fans. 


THE  EXERCISE   OF  THE  FAN.         85 

By  the  right  observation  of  these  few  plaia 
words  of  command,  a  woman  of  a  tolerable 
genius,  who  will  app'y  herself  diligently  to 
her  exercise  for  the  space  of  but  one  half-year, 
shall  be  able  to  give  her  fan  all  the  graces  that 
can  possibly  enter  into  that  little  modish  ma- 
chine. 

Bnt  to  the  end  that  my  readers  may  form  to 
themselves  a  right  notion  of  this  exercise,  I 
beg  leave  to  explain  it  to  them  ia  all  its  parts. 
When  my  female  regiment  is  drawn  up  in 
array,  with  every  one  her  weapon  in  her  hand, 
upon  my  giving  the  word  to  "  handle  their 
fan,"  each  of  them  shakes  her  fan  at  mo  with 
a  smile,  then  gives  her  right-hand  woman  a 
tap  upon  t'le  shoulder,  then  presses  her  lips 
with  the  extremity  of  her  fan,  then  lets  her 
arms  fall  in  an  e-isy  motion,  and  stands  in  a 
readiness  to  receive  the  next  word  of  com- 
mand. All  this  is  done  with  a  close  fan,  and 
is  general. y  learned  in  the  first  week. 

The  next  motion  is  that  of  "  unfurling  the 
fan,"  in  which  are  comprehended  several  little 
flirts  and  vibrations,  as  also  gradual  and  delib- 
erate openings,  with  many  voluntary  fallings 
asunder  in  the  fan  itself,  that  are  seldom 
learned  under  a  month's  practice.  This  part 
of  the  exercise  pleases  the  spectators  more 
than  any  other,  as  it  discovers  on  a  sudden  an 
infinite  number  of  cupids,  garlands,  altars, 
birds,  beasts,  rainbows,  and  the  like  agreea- 
ble figures,  that  display  themselves  to  view, 
whilst  every  one  in  the  regiment  holds  a  pic- 
ture in  her  hand. 


80         THE  EXEEGI8E   OF  THE  FAN. 

Upon  my  giving  the  word  to  "  discharge 
their  fans,"  they  give  one  general  crack  that 
may  be  heard  at  a  considerable  distance  M'hen 
the  wind  sits  fair.  This  is  one  of  the  most 
ditflcult  parts  of  the  exercise  ;  but  I  have  sev- 
eral ladies  with  me,  who  at  their  first  entrance 
could  not  give  a  pop  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
at  the  further  end  of  a  room,  who  can  now 
"  discharge  a  fan"  in  such  a  manner,  that  it 
shall  make  a  report  like  a  pocket-pistol.  I 
have  likewise  taken  care  (in  order  to  hinder 
young  women  from  letting  off  their  fans  in 
wrong  places  or  unsuitable  occasions)  to  show 
upon  what  subject  the  crack  of  a  fan  may 
come  in  properly  :  I  have  likewise  invented  a 
fan  with  which  a  girl  of  sixteen,  b}"  the  help 
of  a  little  wind  which  is  inclosed  about  one  of 
the  largest  sticks,  can  make  as  loud  a  crack  as 
a  woman  of  fifty  with  an  ordinary  fan. 

When  the  fans  are  thus  "  discharged,"  t'le 
word  of  command  in  course  is  to  '*  ground 
their  fans."  This  teaches  a  lady  to  quit  her 
fan  gracefully  when  she  throws  it  aside  in 
order  to  take  up  a  pack  of  cards,  adjust  a 
curl  of  hair,  replace  a  falling  pin,  or.  apply 
herself  to  any  other  matter  of  importance. 
This  part  of  the  exercise,  as  it  only  consists 
in  tossing  a  fan  with  an  air  upon  a  long  table 
(which  stands  by  for  that  purpose),  may  be 
h'arned  in  two  days'  time  as  well  as  in  a 
twelvemonth. 

When  my  female  regiment  is  thus  disarmed, 
I  generally  let  them  walk  about  the  room  for 
some  time  ;  when  on  a  sudden  (like  ladies  that 


THE  EXERCISE   OF  THE  FAN.         87 

look  upon  their  watches  after  a  long  visit), 
they  all  of  them  hasten  to  their  arms,  catch 
them  up  in  a  hurry,  and  place  themselves  in 
their  proper  stations  upon  my  calling  out, 
"  Recover  your  fans  !  "  This  part  of  the  ex- 
ercise is  not  difficult,  provided  a  woman  ap- 
plies her  thoughts  to  it. 

The  "  fluttering  of  the  fan"  is  the  last  and 
indeed  the  masterpiece  of  the  whole  exercise  ; 
but  if  a  lady  does  not  mis-spend  her  time,  she 
may  make  herself  mistress  of  it  in  three 
months.  I  generally  lay  aside  the  dog-days 
and  the  hot  time  of  the  summer  for  the  teach- 
ing this  part  of  the  "  exercise  "  ;  for  as  soon 
as  ever  I  pronounce,  "Flutter  your  fans," 
the  place  is  filled  with  so  many  zephyrs  and 
gentle  breezes  as  are  very  refreshing  in  that 
season  of  the  year,  though  they  might  be  dan- 
gerous to  ladies  of  a  tender  constitution  in 
any  other. 

There  is  an  infinite  variety  of  motions  to  be 
made  use  of  in  the  "flutter  of  a  fan"  :  there 
is  the  angry  flutter,  the  modest  flutter,  the 
timorous  flutter,  the  confused  flutter,  the  merry 
flutter,  and  the  amorous  flutter.  Not  to  be 
tedious,  there  is  scarce  any  emotion  in  the 
mind  which  does  not  produce  a  suitable  agita- 
tion in  the  fan ;  insomuch,  that  if  1  only  see 
the  fan  of  a  disciplined  lady,  I  know  very 
well  whether  she  laughs,  frowns,  or  blushes. 
I  have  seen  a  fan  so  very  angry,  that  it  would 
have  been  dangerous  for  the  absent  lover  who 
provoked  it  to  have  come  within  the  wind  of 
it ;  and  at  other  times  so  very  languishing,  that 


88  THE  EXERCISE   OF  THE  FAX. 

I  have  been  glad  for  the  lady's  sake  the  lover 
was  at  a  sufficient  distance  from  it.  I  need 
not  add,  that  a  fan  is  either  a  prude  or  co- 
quette, according  to  the  nature  of  the  person 
who  bears  it.  To  conclude  my  letter,  I  must 
acquaint  you  that  I  have  from  my  own  obser- 
vations compiled  a  little  treatise  for  the  use  of 
my  scholars,  entitled  "  Tlie  Passions  of  the 
Fan";  which  I  will  communicate  to  you,  if 
you  think  it  may  be  of  use  to  the  public.  I 
shall  have  a  general  review  on  Thursday  next ; 
to  which  you  shall  be  very  welcome  if  you  will 
honor  it  with  your  presence. 

I  am,  etc. 

P.  S.  I  teach  young  gentlemen  the  whole 
art  of  gallanting  a  fan. 

N.  B.  I  have  several  little  plain  fans  made 
for  this  use,  to  avoid  expense. 

June  27,  1711. 


Spectator.]  USTo.  13.  [Addison. 

WILL  WIMBLE. 

Gratis  anhelans,  multa  agendo  nihil  agens.    Phcedr. 

As  I  was  yesterday  morning  walking  with 
Sir  Roger  before  his  house,  a  country-follow 
brought  him  a  huge  fish,  which,  he  told  him, 
Mr.  William  Wimble  had  caught  that  very 
morning ;  and  that  he  presented  it,  with  his 
service  to  him,  and  intended  to  come  and  dine 
with  him.  At  the  same  time  he  delivered  a 
letter  which  my  friend  read  to  me  as  soon  as 
the  messenger  left  him. 

Sir  Roger ^  —  I  desire  you  to  accept  of  a 
jack,  which  is  the  best  I  have  caught  this  sea- 
son. I  intend  to  come  and  stay  with"^you  a 
week,  and  see  how  the  perch  bite  in  the  Black 
River.  I  observed  with  some  concern,  the 
last  thne  I  saw  you  upon  the  bowling-green, 
that  your  whip  wanted  a  lash  to  it ;  I  will  bring 
half  a  dozen  with  me  that  I  twisted  last  week, 
which  I  hope  will  serve  you  all  the  time  you 
are  in  the  country.  I  have  not  been  out  of 
the  saddle  for  six  days  last  past,  having  been 
at  Eton  with  Sir  John's  eldest  son.  He  takes 
to  his  learning  hugely.  —  I  am,  sir,  your  hum- 
ble servant, 

"Will  Wimble. 


90  WILL    WIMBLE. 

This  extraordinary  letter,  and  the  message 
that  accompanied  it,  made  me  verj  curious  to 
know  the  character  and  quality  of  the  gentle- 
man who  sent  them,  which  I  found  to  be  as 
follows.  Will  Wimble  is  j'ounger  brother  to  a 
baronet,  and  descended  of  the  ancient  family 
of  the  Wimbles.  He  is  now  between  fortj' 
and  fifty  ;  but  being  bred  to  no  business  and 
born  to  no  estate,  he  generally  lives  with  his 
elder  brother  as  superintendent  of  his  game. 
He  hunts  a  pack  of  dogs  better  than  any  man 
in  the  country,  and  is  very  famous  for  finding 
out  a  h  ire.  He  is  extremely  well  versed  in  all 
the  little  handicrafts  of  an  idle  man.  He 
makes  a  Maj'-fly  to  a  miracle ;  and  furnishes 
the  whole  country  with  angle-rods.  As  he  is  a 
good-natured  officious  fellow,  and  very  much 
esteemed  upon  account  of  his  family,  he  is  a 
welcome  guest  at  every  house,  and  keeps  up  a 
good  correspondence  among  all  the  gentlemen 
about  him.  He  carries  a  tulip-root  in  his 
pocket  from  one  to  another,  or  exchanges  a 
puppy  between  a  couple  of  friends  that  live 
perhaps  in  the  opposite  sides  of  the  county. 
Will  is  a  particular  favorite  of  all  the  young 
heii's,  whom  he  frequently  obliges  with  a  net 
that  he  has  weaved  or  a  setting-dog  that  he 
has  made  himself.  He  now  and  then  presents 
a  pair  of  garters  of  his  own  knitting  to  their 
mothers  or  sisters  ;  and  raises  a  great  deal  of 
mirth  among  them,  by  inquiring  as  often  as  he 
meets  them,  '•  How  they  wear?"  These  gen- 
tleman-like manufactures  and  obliging  little 
humors  make  Will  the  darling  of  the  country. 


WILL    WIMBLE.  91 

Sir  Roger  was  proceeding  in  the  character 
of  him,  when  he  saw  him  make  up  to  us  with 
two  or  three  hazel-twigs  in  his  hand  that  he 
had  cut  in  Sir  Roger's  woods,  as  he  came 
through  them,  in  his  way  to  tlie  house.  I  was 
vei}'  much  pleased  to  observe  on  one  side  the 
hearty  and  sincere  welcome  with  which  Sir 
Roger  receive  I  him,  and  on  the  other,  the 
secret  joy  which  his  guest  discovered  at  sight 
of  the  good  old  knight.  After  the  first  salutes 
were  over,  Will  desired  Sir  Roger  to  lend  him 
one  of  his  servants  to  carry  a  set  of  shuttle- 
cocks he  had  with  him  in  a  little  box  to  a  lady 
that  lived  about  a  mile  off,  to  whom  it  seems 
he  had  promised  such  a  present  for  above  this 
half-year.  Sir  Roger's  back  was  no  sooner 
turned,  but  honest  Will  began  to  tell  me  of  a 
large  cock- pheasant  that  he  had  sprung  in  one 
of  the  neighboring  woods,  with  two  or  three 
other  adventures  of  the  same  nature.  Odd 
and  uncommon  characters  are  the  game  that  I 
look  for,  and  most  delight  in  ;  for  which  reason 
I  was  as  much  pleased  with  the  novelty  of  the 
person  that  talked  to  me  as  he  could  be  for  his 
life  with  the  springing  of  the  pheasant,  and 
therefore  listened  to  him  with  more  than  ordi- 
nary attention. 

In  the  midst  of  this  discourse  the  bell  rung 
to  dinner,  where  the  gentleman  I  have  been 
speaking  of  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the 
huge  jack  he  had  caught,  served  up  for  the 
first  dish  in  a  most  sumptuous  manner.  Upon 
our  sitting  down  to  it,  he  gave  us  a  long  ac- 
count how  he  had  hooked  it,  played  with  it, 


92  WILL    WTMBLE. 

foiled  it,  and  at  length  drew  it  out  upon  the 
bank,  with  several  other  particulars  that  lasted 
all  the  first  course.  A  dish  of  wild  fowl  that 
came  afterwards  furnished  conversation  for 
the  rest  of  the  dinner,  which  concluded  with  a 
late  invention  of  "Will's  for  improving  the 
quail-pipe. 

Upon  withdrawing  into  my  room  after  din- 
ner,- I  was  s  cretly  touched  with  compassion 
towards  the  honest  gentleman  that  had  dined 
with  us ;  and  could  not  but  consider  with  a 
great  deal  of  concern,  how  so  good  an  heart 
and  such  busy  hands  were  wholly  employed  in 
trifles  ;  that  so  much  humanity  should  be  so 
little  beneficial  to  others,  and  so  much  industry 
so  little  advantageous  to  himself.  The  same 
temper  of  mind  and  application  to  affairs 
might  have  recommended  him  to  the  public 
esteem,  and  have  raised  his  fortune  in  another 
station  of  life.  What  good  to  his  country  or 
himself  might  not  a  trader  or  merchant  have 
done  with  such  useful  though  ordinary  qualifi- 
cations ? 

Will  Wimble's  is  the  case  of  many  a  younger 
brother  of  a  great  family,  who  had  rather  see 
their  children  starve  like  gentlemen,  than  thrive 
in  a  trade  or  profession  that  is  beneath  their 
quality.  This  humor  fills  several  parts  of  Europe 
with  pride  and  beggary.  It  is  the  happiness 
of  a  trading  nation,  like  ours,  that  the  younger 
sous,  though  incapable  of  any  liberal  art  or 
profession,  may  be  placed  in  such  a  way  of 
life,  as  may  perhaps  enable  them  to  vie  with 
the  best  of  their  family :  accordingly  we  find 


WILL    WIMBLE.  93 

several  citizens  that  w.  re  launched  into  the 
world  with  narrow  fortunes,  rising  by  an  hon- 
est industry  to  greater  estates  than  those  of 
their  elder  brothers.  It  is  not  improbable  but 
Will  was  formerly  tried  at  divinity,  law,  or 
physic  ;  and  that  finding  his  genius  did  not  lie 
that  way,  his  parents  gave  liim  up  at  length  to 
his  own  inventions.  But  certainly,  however 
improper  he  might  have  been  for  studies  of  a 
higher  nature,  he  was  perfectly  well  turned 
for  the  occupations  of  trade  and  commerce, 

July  4, 1711. 


Spectator.]  N"o.  14.  [Steblb. 

SIR  ROGEE  DE  COVERLEY'S  ANCESTORS. 

Abnormis  sapiens.  .  .  .    Hor, 

I  WAS  this  morning  walking  in  the  gallery, 
when  Sir  Roger  entered  at  the  end  opposite  to 
me,  and  advancing  towards  me,  said  he  was 
glad  to  meet  me  among  his  relations  the  De 
Coverleys,  and  hoped  I  liked  the  conversation 
of  so  much  good  company,  who  were  as  silent 
as  myself.  I  knew  he  alluded  to  the  pictures, 
and  as  he  is  a  gentleman  who  does  not  a  little 
value  himself  upon  his  ancient  descent,  I 
expected  he  would  give  me  some  account  of 
them.  We  were  now  arrived  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  gallery,  when  the  knight  faced  towards  one 
of  the  pictures,  and  as  we  stood  before  it,  he 
entered  into  the  matter,  after  his  blunt  way  of 
saying  things,  as  they  occur  to  his  imagina- 
tion, without  regular  introduction,  or  care  to 
preserve  the  appearance  of  chain  of  thought. 

"  It  is,"  said  he,  ''  worth  while  to  consider 
the  force  of  dress  ;  and  how  the  persons  of 
one  age  differ  from  those  of  another  merely 
by  that  only.  One  may  observe  also,  that 
the  general  fashion  of  one  age  has  been 
followed  by  one  particular  set  of  people  in 
another,  and  by  them  preserved  from  one  gen- 
eration to  another.     Thus  the  vast  jetting  coat 


ANCEST0B8.  95 

and  small  bonnet,  which  was  the  habit  in  Harry 
the  Seventh's  time,  is  kept  on  in  the  yeomen 
©f  tlie  guard  ;  not  without  a  good  and  politic 
view,  because  they  look  a  foot  taller,  and  a 
foot  and  a  half  broader ;  besides,  that  the  cap 
leaves  the  face  expanded,  and  consequently 
more  terrible,  and  fitter  to  stand  at  the  entrance 
of  palaces. 

"  This  predecessor  of  ours,  you  see,  is 
dressed  after  this  manner,  and  his  cheeks 
would  be  no  larger  tlian  mine,  wore  he  in  a 
hat  as  I  am.  He  was  the  last  man  that  won 
a  prize  in  the  Tilt-Yard  ( which  is  now  a  com- 
mon street  before  Whitehall) .  You  see  the 
broken  lance  that  lies  there  by  his  right  foot ; 
he  shivered  that  lance  of  his  adversary  all  to 
pieces  ;  and  bearing  himself,  look  you.  Sir,  in 
this  manner,  at  the  same  time  he  came  within 
the  target  of  the  gentleman  who  rode  against 
him,  and  taking  him  with  incredible  force 
before  him  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  he  in 
that  manner  rid  the  tournament  over,  with  an 
air  that  shewed  he  did  it  rather  to  perform  the 
rule  of  the  lists  than  expose  his  enemy ; 
however,  it  appeared  he  knew  how  to  make 
use  of  a  victory,  and  with  a  gentle  trot  he 
marched  up  to  a  gallery  wliere  their  mistress 
sat  (for  thoy  wei'e  rivals),  and  let  hira  down 
with  laudable  courtesy  and  pardonable  inso- 
lence. I  don't  know  but  it  might  be  exactly 
where  the  Cotfee-house  is  now. 

' '  You  are  to  know  this  my  ancestor  was 
not  only  of  a  military  genius,  but  fit  also  for 
the  arts  of  peace,  for  he  played  on  the  bass- 


96  Silt  BOGEB  DE  COVEBLEY'S 

viol  as  well  as  any  gentleman  at  court ;  j^ou 
see  where  his  viol  hangs  by  his  basket-hilt 
sword.  The  action  at  the  Tilt-Yard  you  may 
be  sure  won  the  fair  lady,  who  was  a  maid  of 
honor,  and  the  greatest  beauty  of  her  time ; 
here  she  stands,  the  next  picture.  You  see, 
Sir,  my  great-great-grandmother  has  on  the 
new-fashioned  petticoat,  except  that  the  mod- 
ern is  gathered  at  the  waist ;  my  grandmother 
appears  as  if  she  stood  in  a  large  drum, 
whereas  the  ladies  now  walk  as  if  they  were  in 
a  go-cart.  For  all  this  lady  was  bred  at 
court,  she  became  an  excellent  country-wife, 
she  brought  ten  children,  and  when  I  shew 
you  the  library,  you  shall  see  in  her  own  hand 
(allowing  for  the  difference  of  the  language) 
the  best  receipt  now  in  England  both  for  an 
hasty  pudding  and  a  white-pot. 

"  If  you  please  to  fall  back  a  little,  because 
'tis  necessary  to  look  at  the  three  next  pic- 
tures at  one  view,  these  are  three  sisters.  She 
on  the  right  hand,  who  is  so  very  beautiful, 
died  a  maid  ;  the  next  to  her,  still  handsomer, 
had  the  same  fate,  against  her  will ;  this 
homely  thi-.g  in  the  middle  had  both  their 
portions  added  to  her  own,  and  was  stolen  by 
a  neighboring  gentleman,  a  man  of  stratagem 
and  resolution,  for  he  poisoned  three  mastiffs 
to  come  at  her,  and  knocked  down  two  deer- 
stealers  in  carrying  her  off.  Misfortunes 
happen  in  all  families  :  the  theft  of  this  romp 
and  so  much  money,  was  no  great  matter  to 
our  estate.  But  the  next  heir  that  possessed 
it  was   this   soft  gentleman,  whom   you  see 


ANCESTOBS.  97 

there :  observe  the  small  buttons,  the  little 
boots,  the  laces,  the  slashes  about  his  clothes, 
and  above  all  the  posture  he  is  drawn  in 
(which  to  be  sure  was  his  own  choosing)  ;  you 
see  lie  sits  with  one  hand  on  a  desk  writing, 
and  looking  as  it  were  another  way,  like  an 
easy  writer,  or  a  sonneteer :  he  was  one  of 
those  that  had  too  ranch  wit  to  know  how  to 
live  in  the  world  ;  he  was  a  man  of  no  justice, 
but  great  good  manners  ;  he  ruined  everybody 
that  had  anything  to  do  with  him,  but  never 
said  a  rude  thing  in  his  life  ;  the  most  indolent 
person  in  the  world,  he  would  sign  a  deed 
that  passed  away  half  his  estate  with  his 
gloves  on,  but  would  not  put  on  his  hat  before 
a  lady,  if  it  were  to  save  his  country.  He  is 
said  t )  be  the  first  that  made  love  by  squeez- 
ing the  hand.  He  left  the  estate  with  ten 
thousand  pounds  debt  upon  it ;  but  however, 
by  all  hands  I  liave  been  informed  that  he 
was  every  way  the  finest  gentleman  in  the  world. 
That  debt  lay  heavy  on  our  house  for  one 
generation,  but  it  was  retrieved  by  a  gift  from 
that  honest  man  you  see  there,  a  citizen  of 
our  name,  but  nothing  at  all  akin  to  us.  I 
know  Sir  Andrew  Freeport  has  said  behind 
my  back  that  this  man  was  descended  from- 
one  of  the  ten  children  of  the  maid  of  honor  I 
shewed  you  above ;  but  it  was  never  made 
out.  We  winked  at  the  thing  indeed,  because 
money  was  wanting  at  that  time." 

Here  I  saw  my  friend  a  little  embarrassed, 
and  turned  my  face  to  the  next  portraiture. 

Sir  Roger  went  on  with  his  account  of  the 
7 


98  SIB  BOGEB  DE   COVEBLEY'S 

gallery  in  the  following  manner.  "  This  man" 
(pointing  to  him  I  looked  at)  "  I  take  to  be  the 
honor  of  our  house,  Sir  Humphrey  de  Cover- 
ley  ;  he  was  in  his  dealings  as  punctual  as  a 
tradesman  and  as  generous  as  a  gentleman. 
He  would  have  thought  himself  as  much  un- 
done by  breaking  his  word  as  if  it  were  to  be 
followed  by  bankruptcy.  He  served  his  coun- 
try as  knight  of  the  shire  to  his  dying  day. 
He  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  maintain  an 
integrity  in  his  words  and  actions,  even  in 
things  that  regarded  the  offices  which  were 
incumbent  upon  him,  in  the  care  of  his  own 
affairs  and  relations  of  life ;  and  therefore 
dreaded  (though  lie  had  great  talents)  to  go 
into  employments  of  state,  where  he  must  be 
exposed  to  the  snares  of  ambition.  Innocence 
of  life  and  great  ability  were  the  distinguish- 
ing parts  of  his  character ;  the  latter,  he  had 
often  observed,  had  led  to  the  desti'uction  of 
the  former,  and  used  frequently  to  lament  that 
great  and  good  had  not  the  same  signification. 
He  was  an  excellent  husbandman,  but  had  re- 
solved not  to  exceed  such  a  degree  of  wealth  ; 
all  above  it  he  bestowed  in  secret  bounties 
many  years  after  the  sum  he  aimed  at  for  his 
own  use  was  attained.  Yet  he  did  not  slacken 
his  industry,  but  to  a  decent  old  age  spent  the 
life  and  fortune  which  was  superfluous  to  him- 
self, in  the  service  of  his  friends  and  neigh- 
bors." 

Here  we  were  called  to  dinner,  and  Sir 
Roger  ended  the  discourse  of  this  gentleman, 
by  telling  me,  as  we  followed  the  servant,  that 


ANCESTORS.  99 

this  his  ancestor  was  a  brave  man,  and  nar- 
rowly escaped  being  killed  in  the  civil  wars ; 
"  Fur,"  said  lie,  "  he  was  sent  out  of  the  field 
upon  a  private  message,  ihe  day  before  the 
baitle  of  Worcester."  The  whim  of  narrowly 
escaping  by  having  been  within  a  day  of 
danger,  with  other  matters  abovementioned, 
mixed  with  good  sense,  left  me  at  a  loss 
whether  I  was  more  delighted  with  my  friend's 
wisdom  or  simplicity. 

July  5, 1711. 


Spectatob.]  No.  1.5.  [Bttoqkll. 

SIE  ROGER  DE  COVERLEY  HARE-HTJNTING. 

.  .  .  Vocat  ingenti  clamore  Cithaeron, 
Taygetique  canes.  .  .  .  Virg. 

Those  who  have  searched  into  human  na- 
ture observe,  that  nothing  so  much  shews  the 
nobleness  of  the  soul,  as  that  its  felicity  con- 
sists in  action.  Every  man  has  such  an  active 
principle  in  him,  that  he  will  find  out  some- 
thing to  employ  himself  upon,  in  whatever 
place  or  state  of  life  he  is  posted.  I  have 
heard  of  a  gentleman  who  was  under  close 
confinement  iu  the  Bastile  seven  years  ;  during 
which  time  he  amused  himself  in  scattering  a 
few  small  pins  about  his  chamber,  gathering 
them  up  again,  and  placing  them  iu  different 
figures  on  the  arm  of  a  great  chair.  He  often 
told  his  friends  afterwards,  that  unless  he  had 
found  out  this  piece  of  exercise,  he  verily  be- 
lieved he  should  have  lost  his  senses. 

After  what  has  been  said,  I  need  not  inform 
my  readers,  that  Sir  Roger,  with  whose  char- 
acter I  hope  they  are  at  present  pretty  well 
acquainted,  has  in  his  youth  gone  through  the 
whole  course  of  those  rural  diversions  which 
the  country  abounds  in  ;  and  which  seem  to  be 
extremely  well  suited  to  that  laborious  industry 
a  man  may  observe  here  in  a  far  greater  degree 


HABE-HUNTma.  101 

than  in  towns  and  cities.  I  have  before  hinted 
at  some  of  my  friend's  exploits  :  he  has  in  his 
youthful  days  talien  forty  coveys  of  partridges 
in  a  season  ;  and  tired  many  a  salmon  with  a 
line  consisting  but  of  a  single  hair.  The  con- 
stant thanlcs  and  goo  1  wishes  of  the  neighbor- 
hood always  attended  him,  on  account  of  his 
remarkable  enmity  towards  foxes  ;  having  de- 
stroyed more  of  those  vermin  in  one  year, 
than  it  was  thought  the  whole  country  could 
have  produced.  Indeed  the  knight  does  not 
scruple  to  own  among  his  most  intimate 
friends,  that  in  order  to  establish  his  reputa- 
tion this  way,  he  has  secretly  sent  for  great 
numbers  of  them  out  of  other  counties,  which 
he  used  to  turn  loose  about  the  country  by 
night,  that  he  might  the  better  signalize  him- 
self in  their  destruction  the  next  day.  His 
hunting-horses  were  the  finest  and  best  man- 
aged in  all  these  parts :  his  tenants  are  still 
full  of  the  praises  of  a  gray  stone-horse  that 
unhappily  staked  himself  several  years  since, 
and  was  buried  with  gi-eat  solemnity  in  the 
orchard. 

Sir  Roger,  being  at  present  too  old  for  fox- 
hunting, to  keep  himself  in  action,  has  dis- 
posed of  his  beagles,  and  got  a  pack  of  Stop- 
hounds.  What  these  want  in  speed,  he  en- 
deavors to  make  amends  for  by  the  deepness 
of  their  mouths  and  the  variety  of  their  notes, 
which  are  suited  in  such  a  manner  to  each 
other,  that  the  whole  cry  makes  up  a  complete 
concort.  He  is  so  nice  in  this  particular,  that 
a  gentleman  having  made  him  a  present  of  a 


a02  SIB  BOGER   DE   COVEBLET 

very  fine  hound  the  other  day,  the  knight  re- 
turned it  hy  the  servant  with  a  great  many 
expressions  of  civility  ;  but  desired  him  to  tell 
his  master,  that  the  dog  he  had  sent  was  in- 
deed a  most  excellent  bass,  but  that  at  present 
he  only  wanted  a  counter-tenor.  Could  I 
believe  my  friend  had  ever  read  Shakespeare, 
I  should  certainly  conclude  he  had  taken  the 
hint  from  Theseus  in  the  "  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream "' : 

My  hounds  are  bred  out  of  the  Spartan  kind, 
So  flew'd,  so  sanded ;  and  their  heads  are  hung 
"With  ears  that  sweep  away  the  morning  dew ; 
Crooked-knee 'd  and  dew-lapp'd  like  Tliessalian  bulls; 
Slow  in  pursuit,  but  match'd  in  month  like  bells, 
Each  under  each.    A  cry  more  tunahle 
Was  never  holla'd  to,  nor  cheer'd  with  horn. 

Sir  Roger  is  so  keen  at  this  sport,  that  he 
has  been  out  almost  every  day  since  I  came 
down ;  and  upon  the  chaplain's  offering  to 
lend  me  his  easy  pad,  I  was  prevailed  on 
yesterday  morning  to  make  one  of  the  com- 
pany, I  was  extremely  pleased,  as  we  rid 
along,  to  observe  the  general  benevolence  of 
all  the  neighborhood  towards  my  friend.  The 
farmers'  sons  thought  themselves  happy  if  they 
could  open  a  gate  for  the  good  old  knight  as 
he  passed  by  ;  which  he  generally  requited  with 
a  nod  or  a  smile,  and  a  kind  inquiry  after  their 
fathers  and  uncles. 

After  we  had  rid  iibont  a  mile  from  home, 
we  came  upon  a  large  heath,  and  the  sports- 
men began  to  beat.  They  had  done  so  for 
some  time,  when,  as  I  was  at  a  little  distance 


HARE-HUNTING.  103 

from  the  rest  of  the  company,  I  saw  a  hare 
pop  out  from  a  small  fm"ze-brake  almost  under 
my  horse's  feet.  I  marked  the  way  she  took, 
which  I  endeavored  to  make  the  company 
sensible  of  by  extending  my  arm  ;  but  to  no 
purpose,  until  Sir  Roger,  who  knows  that  none 
of  my  extraordinary  motions  are  insigni  (leant, 
rode  up  to  me,  and  asked  me  "if  Puss  was 
gone  that  way  ? "  Upon  my  answering ' '  Yes," 
he  immediately  called  in  the  dogs,  and  put 
them  upon  the  scent.  As  thej''  were  going  off, 
I  heard  one  of  the  country-fellows  muttering 
to  his  companion,  "  that  'twas  a  wonder  they 
had  not  lost  all  their  sport,  for  want  of  the 
silent  gentleman's  crying  —  Stole  away." 

This,  with  my  aversion  to  leaping  hedges, 
made  me  withdraw  to  a  rising  ground,  from 
whence  I  could  have  the  pleasure  of  the  whole 
chase,  without  the  fatigue  of  keeping  in  with 
the  hounds.  The  hare  immediately  threw  them 
above  a  mile  behind  her ;  but  I  was  pleased 
to  find,  that  instead  of  running  straight  for- 
wards, or  in  hunter's  language,  "flying  the 
country,"  as  I  was  afraid  she  might  have  done, 
she  wheeled  about,  and  described  a  sort  of 
circle  round  the  hill  where  I  had  taken  my 
station,  in  such  a  manner  as  gave  me  a  very 
distinct  view  of  the  sport.  I  could  see  her 
first  pass  by,  and  the  dogs  some  time  after- 
wards unravelling  the  whole  track  she  had 
made,  and  following  her  through  all  her 
doubles.  I  was  at  the  same  time  delighted 
in  observing  that  deference  which  the  rest 
of  the   pack  paid  to  each  particular    hound, 


104  SIB  ROGEB  DE   COVERLET 

according  to  the  character  he  had  acquired 
amongst  them :  if  they  were  at  a  fault,  and 
an  old  hound  of  reputation  opened  but  once, 
he  was  immediately  followed  by  the  whole  cry  ; 
while  a  raw  dog,  or  one  who  was  a  noted  liar, 
might  have  yelped  his  heart  out,  without  being 
taken  notice  of. 

The  hare  now,  after  having  squatted  two  or 
three  times,  and  been  put  up  again  as  often, 
came  still  nearer  to  the  place  where  she  was 
at  first  started.  The  dogs  pursued  her,  and 
these  were  followed  by  the  jolly  knight,  who 
rode  upon  a  white  gelding,  encompassed  by 
his  tenants  and  servants,  and  cheering  his 
hounds  with  all  the  gayety  of  five-and-twenty. 
One  of  the  sportsmen  rode  up  to  me,  and  told 
me,  that  he  was  sure  the  chase  was  almost  at 
an  end,  because  the  old  dogs,  which  had  hith- 
erto lain  behind,  now  headed  the  pack.  The 
fellow  was  in  the  right.  Our  hare  took  a  large 
field  just  under  us,  followed  by  the  full  cry 
"  in  view."  I  must  confess  the  brightness  of 
the  weather,  the  cheerfulness  of  everything 
around  me,  the  chiding  of  the  hounds,  which 
was  returned  upon  us  in  a  double  echo  from 
two  neighboring  hills,  with  the  hollaing  of  the 
sportsman,  and  the  sounding  of  the  horn,  lifted 
my  spirits  into  a  most  lively  pleasure,  which 
I  freely  indulged,  because  I  was  sure  it  was 
innocent.  If  I  was  under  any  concern,  it  was 
on  the  account  of  the  poor  hare,  that  was  now 
quite  spent,  and  almost  within  the  reach  of 
her  enemies  ;  when  the  huntsman  getting  for- 
ward, threw  down  his  pole  before  the  dogs. 


HARE-HUNTING.  105 

They  were  now  within  eight  yards  of  that 
game  which  they  had  been  pursuing  for  almost 
as  many  hours ;  yet  on  the  signal  before 
mentioned  they  all  made  a  sudden  stand,  and 
though  they  continued  opening  as  much  as 
before,  durst  not  once  attempt  to  pass  be^'ond 
the  pole.  At  the  same  time  Sir  Roger  rode 
forward,  and  alighting,  took  up  the  hare  in 
his  arms ;  which  he  soon  delivered  up  to  one 
of  his  servants,  with  an  order,  if  she  could  be 
kept  alive,  to  let  her  go  in  his  great  orchard  ; 
where  it  seems  he  has  several  of  these  prisoners 
of  war,  who  live  together  in  a  very  comfortable 
captivity.  I  was  highly  pleased  to  see  the 
discipline  of  the  pack,  and  the  good-nature  of 
the  knight,  who  could  not  find  in  his  heart  to 
murder  a  creatui'e  that  had  given  him  so  much 
diversion. 

July  13, 1711, 


Spkctatob.]  TTo.  16.  [Addison. 

THE  CITIZEN'S  JOURNAL. 

.  .  .  f rugea  consomere  nati.    Hor. 

Augustus,  a  few  moments  before  his  death, 
asked  his  friends  who  stood  about  him,  if 
they  thought  he  had  acted  his  part  well ;  and 
upon  receiving  such  an  answer  as  was  due 
to  his  extraordinary  merit  —  "Let  me  then," 
says  he,  "go  off  the  stage  with  your  ap- 
plause "  ;  using  the  expression  with  which  the 
Roman  actors  made  their  t!ixit  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  a  dramatic  piece.  I  could  wish  that 
men,  while  they  are  in  health,  would  consider 
well  the  nature  of  the  part  they  are  engaged 
in,  and  what  figure  it  will  make  in  the  minds 
of  those  they  leave  behind  them :  whether  it 
was  worth  coming  into  the  world  for ;  whether 
it  be  suitable  to  a  reasonable  being ;  in  short, 
whether  it  appears  graceful  in  this  life,  or  will 
turn  to  an  advantage  in  the  next.  Let  the 
sycophant,  or  buffoon,  the  satirist,  or  the  good 
companion,  consider  with  himself,  when  his 
body  shall  be  laid  in  the  grave,  and  his  soul 
pass  into  another  state  of  existence,  how  much 
it  would  redound  to  his  praise  to  have  it  said 
of  him,  that  no  man  in  England  eat  better, 
that  he  had  an  admirable  talent  at  turnino  his 
friends  into  ridicule,  that  nobody  outdid  him 


THE  CITIZEN'S  JOUBNAL.  107 

at  an  ill-uatured  jest,  or  that  he  never  went  to 
bed  before  he  had  despatched  his  third  bottle. 
These  are,  however,  very  common  funeral  ora- 
tions, and  eulogiums  on  deceased  persons  wiio 
have  acted  among  mankind  with  some  figure 
and  reputation. 

But  if  we  look  into  the  bulk  of  our  species, 
they  are  such  as  are  not  likely  to  be  remem- 
bered a  moment  after  their  disappearance. 
They  leave  behind  them  uo  traces  of  their 
existence,  but  are  forgotten  as  though  they  had 
never  been.  They  are  neither  wanted  by  the 
poor,  regretted  by  the  rich,  nor  celebrated  by 
the  learned.  They  are  neither  missed  in  the 
commonwealth,  nor  lamented  by  private  per- 
sons. Their  actions  are  of  no  significancy  to 
mankind,  and  might  have  been  performed  by 
creatures  of  much  less  dignity  than  those  who 
are  distinguished  by  the  faculty  of  reason. 
An  eminent  French  author  speaks  somewhere 
to  the  following  purpose  :  "  I  have  often  seen 
from  my  chamber-window  two  noble  creatures, 
both  of  them  of  an  erect  countenance,  and  en- 
dowed with  reason.  These  two  intellectual 
beings  are  employed  from  morning  to  night, 
in  rubbing  two  smooth  stones  upon  one 
another;  that  is,  as  the  vulgar  phrase  it,  in 
polishing  marble." 

My  friend,  Sir  Andrew  Freeport,  as  we  were 
sitting  in  the  club  last  night,  gave  us  an 
account  of  a  sober  citizen,  who  died  a  few 
days  since.  This  honest  man  being  of  greater 
consequence  in  his  own  thoughts,  than  in  the 
eye  of  the   world,  had   for   some   years  past 


108  THE  CITIZEN'S  JOURNAL. 

kept  a  journal  of  his  life.  Sir  Andrew  shewed 
us  one  week  of  it.  Since  the  occurrences  set 
down  in  it  mark  out  such  a  road  of  action  as 
that  I  have  been  speaking  of,  I  shall  present  my 
reader  with  a  faithful  copy  of  it ;  after  having 
first  informed  him,  that  the  deceased  person 
had  in  his  youth  been  bred  to  trade,  but  finding 
himself  not  so  well  turned  for  business,  he  had 
for  several  years  last  past  lived  altogether 
upon  a  moderate  annuity. 

Monday^  eight  a-clock.  I  put  on  my 
clothes,  and  walked  into  the  parlor. 

Nine  a-clock  ditto.  Tied  my  knee-striogs, 
and  washed  my  hands. 

Hours  ten,  eleven,  and  twelve.  Smoked 
three  pipes  of  Virginia.  Read  the  Supplement 
and  Daily  Courant.  Things  go  ill  in  the  north. 
Mr.  Nisby's  opinion  thereupon. 

One  a-clock  in  the  afternoon.  Chid  Ralph 
for  mislaying  my  tobacco-box. 

Two  a-clock.  Sat  down  to  dinner.  Mem. 
Too  many  plums,  and  no  suet. 

From  three  to  four.  Took  my  afternoon's 
nap. 

From  four  to  six.  Walked  into  the  fields. 
Wind,  S.  S.  E. 

From  six  to  ten.  At  the  club.  Mr.  Nisby's 
opinion  about  the  peace. 

Ten  a-clock.     Went  to  bed,  slept  sound. 

T«esday,  being  holiday,  eight  a-clock.  Rose 
as  usual. 

Nine  a-clock.  Washed  hands  and  face, 
shaved,  put  on  my  double-soled  shoes. 


THE  CITIZEW8  JOURNAL.  109 

Ten,  eleven,  twelve.  Took  a  walk  to  Isling- 
ton. 

One.     Took  a  pot  of  mother  Cob's  mild. 

Between  two  and  three.  Returned,  dined 
on  a  knuckle  of  veal  and  bacon.  Mem. 
Sprouts  wanting. 

Three.     Nap  as  usual. 

From  four  to  six.  Coffee-house.  Read 
the  news.  A  dish  of  twist.  Grand  Vizier 
strangled. 

From  six  to  ten.  At  the  club.  Mr. 
Nisby's  account  of  the  Great  Turk. 

Ten.  Dream  of  the  Grand  Vizier.  Broken 
sleep. 

Wednesday^  eight  a-clock.  Tongue  of  my 
shoe-buckle  broke.     Hands  but  not  face. 

Nine.  Paid  off  the  butcher's  bill.  Mem. 
To  be  allowed  for  the  last  leg  of  mutton. 

Ten,  eleven.  At  the  coffee-house.  More 
work  in  the  north.  Stranger  in  a  black  wig 
asked  me  how  stocks  went. 

From  twelve  to  one.  Walked  in  the  fields. 
"Wind  to  the  south. 

From  one  to  two.  Smoked  a  pipe  and  a 
half. 

Two.     Dined  as  usual.     Stomach  good. 

Three.  Nap  broke  by  the  falling  of  a  pew- 
ter dish.  Mem.  Cook-maid  in  love,  and 
grown  careless. 

From  four  to  six.  At  the  coffee-house. 
Advice  from  Smyrna,  that  the  Grand  Vizier 
was  first  of  all  strangled,  and  afterwards 
beheaded. 


110  THE  CITIZEN'S  JOURNAL. 

Six  a-clock  in  the  evening.  Was  half  an 
hour  in  the  club  before  anybody  else  came. 
Mr.  Nisby  of  opinion  that  the  Grand  Vizier 
was  not  strangled  the  sixth  iustant. 

Ten  at  night  Went  to  bed.  Slept  with- 
out waking  until  nine  next  morning. 

Thursday.,  nine  a-clock.  Stayed  within 
until  two  a-clock  for  Sir  Timothy ;  who  did 
not  bring  me  my  annuity  according  to  his 
promise. 

Two  in  the  afternoon.  Sat  down  to  dinner. 
Loss  of  appetite.  Small  beer  sour.  Beef 
over-corned. 

Three.     Could  not  take  my  nap. 

Four  and  five.  Gave  Ralph  a  box  on  the 
ear.  Turned  off  my  cook-maid.  Sent  a  mes- 
senger to  Nir  Timothy.  Mem.  I  did  not  go 
to  the  club  to-night.  Went  to  bed  at  nine 
a-clock. 

Friday.  Passed  the  morning  in  meditation 
upon  Sir  Timothy,  who  was  with  me  a  quarter 
before  twelve. 

Twelve  a-clock.  Bought  a  new  head  to  my 
cane,  and  a  tongue  to  my  buckle.  Drank  a 
glass  of  purl  to  recover  appetite. 

Two  and  three.     Dined,  and  slept  well. 

From  four  to  six.  Went  to  the  coffee- 
house. Met  Mr.  Nisby  there.  Smoked  sev- 
eral pipes.  Mr.  Nisby  of  opinion  that  laced 
coffee  is  bad  for  the  head. 

Six  a-clock.  At  the  club  as  steward.  Sat 
late. 


TUE   CITIZEN'S  JOUBNAL.  Ill 

Twelve  a-clock.  Went  to  bed,  dreamt  that 
I  drank  small  beer  with  the  Grand  Vizier. 

Saturday.  Waked  at  eleven,  walked  in 
the  fields,  wind  N.  E. 

Twelve.     Caught  in  a  shower. 

One  in  the  afternoon.  Returned  home, 
and  dried  myself. 

Two.  Mr.  Nisby  dined  with  me.  First 
course,  marrow-bones  ;  second,  ox-cheek,  with 
a  bottle  of  Brooks  and  Hellier. 

Three  a-clock.     Overslept  myself. 

Six.  Went  to  the  club.  Like  to  have  fallen 
into  a  gutter.    Grand  Vizier  certainly  dead,  etc. 

I  question  not  but  the  reader  will  be  sur- 
prised to  find  the  above-mentioned  journalist 
taking  so  much  care  of  a  life  that  was  filled 
with  such  inconsiderable  actions,  and  received 
so  very  small  improvements ;  and  yet,  if  we 
look  into  the  behavior  of  many  whom  we  daily 
converse  with,  we  shall  find  that  most  of  their 
hours  are  taken  up  in  those  three  important 
articles  of  eating,  drinking,  and  sleeping.  I 
do  not  suppose  that  a  man  loses  his  time,  who 
is  not  engaged  in  public  affairs,  or  in  an  illus- 
trious course  of  action.  On  the  contrary,  I 
believe  our  hours  may  very  often  be  more 
profitably  laid  out  in  such  transactions  as  make 
no  figure  in  the  world,  than  in  such  as  are  apt 
to  draw  upon  them  the  attention  of  mankind. 
One  may  become  wiser  and  better  by  several 
methods  of  employing  one's  self  in  secrecy  and 
silence,  and  do  what  is  laudable  without  noise 


112  THE  CITIZEN'S  JOUBNAL. 

or  ostentation.  I  would,  however,  recommend 
to  every  one  of  my  readers,  the  keeping  a 
journal  of  their  lives  for  one  week,  and  setting 
down  punctually  their  whole  series  of  employ- 
ments during  that  space  of  time.  This  kind 
of  self-examination  would  give  them  a  true 
state  of  'themselves,  and  incline  them  to  con- 
sider seriously  what  they  are  about.  One  day 
would  rectify  the  omissions  of  another,  and 
make  a  man  weigh  all  those  indifferent  actions, 
which,  though  they  are  easily  forgotten,  must 
certainly  be  accounted  for. 

Mabch  4, 1712. 


Spectator.]  No.  IT.  [Addison. 

THE  FINE  LADY'S  JOUENAL. 

.  .  .  Modo  vir,  modo  foemina.  .  .  .    Virg. 

The  journal  with  which  I  presented  my 
reader  on  Tuesday  last,  has  brought  me  in 
several  letters,  with  accounts  of  many  pri- 
vate lives  cast  into  that  form.  I  have  the 
Rake's  Journal,  the  Sot's  Journal,  and  among 
several  others  a  very  curious  piece,  entitled 
"  The  Journal  of  a  Mohock."  By  these  in- 
stances I  find  that  the  intention  of  my  last 
Tuesday's  paper  has  been  mistaken  by  many 
of  my  readers.  I  did  not  design  so  much  to 
expose  vice  as  idleness,  and  aimed  at  those 
persons  who  pass  away  their  time  rather  in 
trifle  aud  impertinence,  than  in  crimes  and 
immoralities.  Offences  of  this  latter  kind  are 
not  to  be  dallied  with,  or  treated  in  so  ludi- 
crous a  manner.  In  short,  my  journal  only 
holds  up  folly  to  the  light,  and  shews  the  dis- 
agreeableness  of  such  actions  as  are  indifferent 
in  themselves,  and  blamable  only  as  they  pro- 
ceed from  creatures  en^iowed  with  reason. 

My  following  correspondent,  who  calls  her- 
self Clarinda  y  is  such  a  journalist  as  I  require  : 
she  seems  by  her  letter  to  be  placed  in  a  modish 
state  of  indifference  between  vice  and  virtue, 
and  to  be  susceptible  of  either,  were  there 
8 


114        THE  FINE  LADY'S  JO  VENAL. 

proper  pains  taken  with  her.  Had  her  journal 
been  filled  with  gallantries,  or  such  occurrences 
as  had  shewn  her  wholly  divested  of  her  natu- 
ral innocence,  notwithstanding  it  might  have 
been  more  pleasing  to  the  generality  of  readers, 
I  should  not  have  published  it ;  but  as  it  is 
only  the  picture  of  a  life  filled  with  a  fashion- 
able kind  of  gayety  and  laziness,  I  shall  set 
down  five  days  of  it,  as  I  have  received  it  from 
the  hand  of  my  fair  correspondent. 

Dear  Mr.  Spectator,  —  You  having  set  your 
readers  an  exercise  in  one  of  your  last  week's 
papers,  I  have  performed  mine  according 
to  your  orders,  and  herewith  send  it  you 
inclosed.  You  must  know,  Mr.  Spectator, 
that  I  am  a  maiden  lady  of  a  good  fortune, 
who  have  had  several  matches  offered  me  for 
these  ten  years  last  past,  and  have  at  present 
warm  applications  made  to  me  by  a  very  pretty 
fellow.  As  I  am  at  my  own  disposal,  I  corae 
up  to  town  every  winter,  and  pass  my  time  in 
it  after  the  manner  you  will  find  in  the  follow- 
ing journal,  which  I  began  to  write  upon  the 
very  day  after  your  Spectator  upon  that  sub- 
ject. 

Tuesday  night.  Could  not  go  to  sleep  till 
one  in  the  morning  for  thinking  of  my  journal. 

Wednesday.  From  eight  till  ten.  Drank 
two  dishes  of  chocolate  in  bed,  and  fell  asleep 
after  them. 

From  ten  to  eleven.     Eat  a  slice  of  bread 


THE  FIXE  LADY'S  JOURNAL.        116 

and  butter,  d  aak  a  dish  of  bohea,  read  the 
Spectator. 

From  eleven  to  one.  At  my  toilet,  tried 
a  new  head  Gave  orders  for  Veny  to  be 
combe  1  and  washed.  Mem.  I  look  best  in 
blue. 

From  one  till  half  an  hour  after  two.  Drove 
to  the  Change.     Cheapened  a  couple  of  fans. 

l  ill  four.  At  dinner.  Mem.  Mr.  Froth 
passed  by  in  his  new  liveries. 

From  four  to  six.  Dressed,  paid  a  visit  to 
old  Lad}'  Blithe  and  her  sister,  having  before 
heard  they  were  gone  out  of  town  that  day. 

From  six  to  eleven.  At  Basset.  Alem. 
Never  set  again  upou  the  ace  of  diamonds. 

Thursday.  From  eleven  at  night  to  eight 
in  the  morning.  Dreamed  that  I  punted  to 
Mr.  Froth. 

From  eight  to  ten.  Chocolate.  Read  two 
acts  in  Aurengzebe  abed. 

From  ten  to  eleven.  Tea-table.  Read  the 
play-bills.  Received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Froth. 
Mem.     Locked  it  up  in  my  strong  box. 

Rest  of  the  morning.  Fontange,  the  tire- 
woman, her  account  of  my  Lady  Blithe's  wash. 
Broke  a  tooth  in  my  little  tortoise-shell  comb. 
Sent  Frank  to  know  how  my  Lady  Hectic  rested 
after  her  monkey's  leaping  out  at  window. 
Looked  pale.  Fontange  tells  me  my  glass  is 
not  true.     Dressed  by  three. 

From  three  to  four.  Dinner  cold  before  I 
sat  down. 

From  four  to  eleven.     Saw  company.     Mr. 


116        THE  FINE  LADY'S  JOUBNAL. 

Froth's  opinion  of  Milton.  His  account  of 
the  Mohocks.  His  fancy  for  a  pin-cushion. 
Picture  in  the  lid  of  his  snuff-box.  Old  Lady 
Faddle  promises  me  her  woman  to  cut  my  hair. 
Lost  five  guineas  at  crimp. 

Twelve  a'clock  at  night.     Went  to  bed. 

Friday.  Eight  in  the  morning.  Abed. 
Read  over  all  Mr.  Froth's  letters. 

Ten  a'clock.  Staid  within  all  day,  not  at 
home. 

From  ten  to  twelve.  In  conference  with 
my  raantua-maker.  Sorted  a  suit  of  ribbons. 
Broke  ray  blue  china  cup. 

From  twelve  to  one.  Shut  myself  up  in 
my  chamber,  practised  Lady  Betty  Modely's 
skuttle. 

One  in  the  afternoon.  Called  for  my  flow- 
ered handkerchief.  Worked  half  a  violet-leaf 
in  it.  Eyes  ached  and  head  out  of  order. 
Threw  by  my  work,  and  read  over  the  re- 
maining part  of  Aurengzebe. 

From  three  to  four.     Dined. 

From  four  to  twelve.  Changed  my  mind, 
dressed,  went  abroad,  and  played  at  crimp  till 
midnight.  Found  Mrs.  Spitely  at  home. 
Conversation:  Mrs.  Brilliant's  necklace  false 
stones.  Old  Lady  Loveday  going  to  be  mar- 
ried to  a  young  fellow  that  is  not  worth  a  groat. 
Miss  Prue  gone  into  the  country.  Tom  Town- 
ley  has  red  hair.  Mem.  Mrs.  Spitely  whis- 
pered in  my  ear  that  she  had  something  to  tell 
me  about  Mr.  Froth,  I  am  sure  it  is  not  true. 

Between  twelve  and  one.    Dreamed  that 


THE  FINE  LADY'S  JOURNAL,        117 

Mr.    Froth  lay   at  my   feet,    and   called  me 
Indamora. 

Saturday.  Rose  at  eight  a'elock  in  the 
morning.     Sat  down  to  my  toilet. 

From  eight  to  nine.  Shifted  a  patch  for 
half  an  hour  before  I  could  determine  it. 
Fixed  it  above  my  left  eyebrow. 

From  nine  to  twelve.  Drank  my  tea,  and 
dressed. 

From  twelve  to  two.  At  chapel.  A  great 
deal  of  good  company.  Mem.  The  third 
air  in  the  new  opei-a.  Lady  Blithe  dressed 
frightfully. 

From  three  to  four.  Dined.  Miss  Kitty 
called  upon  me  to  go  to  the  opera  before  I 
was  risen  from  table. 

From  dinner  to  six.  Drank  tea.  Turned 
off  a  footman  for  being  rude  to  Veny. 

Six  a'elock.  Went  to  the  opera.  I  did  not 
see  Mr.  Froth  till  the  beginning  of  the  second 
act.  Mr.  Froth  talked  to  a  gentleman  in  a 
black  vrig.  Bowed  to  a  lady  in  the  front  box. 
Mr.  Froth  and  his  friend  clapped  Nicolini  in 
the  third  act.  Mr.  Froth  cried  out  Ancora. 
Mr.  Froth  led  me  to  my  chair.  I  think  he 
squeezed  my  hand. 

Eleven  at  night.  Went  to  bed.  Melan- 
choly dreams.  Methought  Nicolini  said  he 
was  Mr.  Froth. 

Sunday.     Indisposed. 

Monday.     Eight  a'elock.     Waked  by  Miss 


118        THE  FINE  LADY'S  JOURNAL. 

Kitty.  Aurengzebe  lay  upon  the  chair  by  me, 
Kitty  repeated  without  book  the  eight  best 
lines  in  the  play.  Went  in  our  mobs  to  the 
dumb  man  according  to  appointment.  Told 
me  that  my  lover's  name  began  with  a  G. 
Mem.  The  conjurer  was  within  a  letter  of 
Mr.  Froth's  name,  etc. 

Upon  looking  back  into  this  my  journal,  I 
find  that  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  whether  I 
pass  my  time  well  or  ill ;  and  indeed  never 
thought  of  considering  how  I  did  it  before  I 
perused  j'our  speculation  upon  that  subject. 
I  scarce  find  a  single  action  in  these  five  days 
that  I  can  thoroughly  approve  of,  except  the 
working  upon  the  violet-leaf,  which  I  am  re- 
solved to  finish  the  first  day  I  am  at  leisure. 
As  for  Mr.  Froth  and  Veny,  I  did  not  think 
they  took  up  so  much  of  my  time  and  thoughts 
as  I  find  they  do  upon  my  journal.  The  latter 
of  them  I  will  turn  off,  if  you  insist  upon  it ; 
and  if  Mr.  Froth  does  not  bring  matters  to  a 
conclusion  very  suddenly,  I  will  not  let  my 
life  run  away  in  a  dream. 

Your  humble  servant, 

Clakinda. 

To  resume  one  of  the  morals  of  my  first 
paper,  and  to  confirm  Clarinda  in  her  good  in- 
clinations, I  would  have  her  consider  what  a 
pretty  figure  she  would  make  among  posterity, 
were  the  history  of  her  whole  life  published 
like  these  five  days  of  it.  I  shall  conclude 
my  paper  with  an  epitaph  written  by  an  uncer- 


THE  FINE  LADY'S  JOURNAL.         119 

tain  author  on  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  sister,  a 
lady,  who  seems  to  have  been  of  a  temper 
very  much  different  from  that  of  Clarinda. 
The  last  thought  of  it  is  so  very  noble,  that 
I  dare  say  my  reader  will  pardon  me  the 
quotation. 

ON  THE  COUNTESS  DOWAGER  OF  PEMBROKE. 

Underneath  this  marble  hearse 
Lies  the  subject  of  all  verse, 
Sidney's  sister,  Pembroke's  mother: 
Death,  ere  thou  hast  kill'd  another, 
Fair,  and  learned,  and  good  as  she, 
Time  shall  throw  a  dart  at  thee. 

Makch  11, 1712. 


Spbctatob.]  !N"o.  1Q.  [Addisok. 

SIR  EOGER  DE  COVEELEY  AT  THE  PLAY. 

Respicere  exemplar  vita?  morumque  jubebo 

Doctum  imitatorem,  et  veras  hinc  ducere  voces.     Hor. 

Mt  friend  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  when  we 
last  met  together  at  the  club,  told  me  that  he 
had  a  great  mind  to  see  the  new  tragedy  with 
me,  assuring  me,  at  the  same  time,  that  he  had 
not  been  at  a  play  these  twenty  years.  "The 
last  I  saw,"  said  Sir  Roger,  "  was  the  Com- 
mittee, which  I  should  not  have  gone  to 
neither,  had  not  I  been  told  beforehand,  that 
it  was  a  good  Church  of  England  comedy." 
He  then  proceeded  to  inquire  of  me  who  this 
distressed  mother  was  ;  and  upon  hearing  that 
she  was  Hector's  widow,  he  told  me  that  her 
husband  was  a  brave  man,  and  that  when  he 
was  a  school-boy  he  had  read  his  life  at  the 
end  of  the  dictionary.  My  friend  asked  me, 
in  the  next  place,  if  there  would  not  be  some 
danger  in  coming  home  late,  in  case  the  Mo- 
hocks should  be  abroad.  "I  assure  you," 
says  he,  "I  thought  I  had  fallen  into  their 
hands  last  night ;  for  I  observed  two  or  three 
lusty  black  men  that  followed  me  half-way  up 
Fleet  Street,  and  mended  their  pace  behind 
me,  in  proportion  as  I  put  on  to  get  away  from 
them.     You  must  know,"  continued  the  knight 


AT  THE  PLAT.  121 

with  a  smile,  "  I  fancied  they  had  a  mind  to 
hunt  me  ;  for  I  remember  an  honest  gentleman 
in  my  neighborhood,  who  was  served  such  a 
trick  in  King  Charles  the  Second's  time ;  for 
which  reason  he  has  not  ventured  himself  in 
town  ever  since.  I  might  have  shewn  them 
very  good  sport,  had  this  been  their  design ; 
for  as  I  am  an  old  fox-hunter,  I  should  have 
turned  and  dodged,  and  have  played  them  a 
thousand  tricks  they  had  never  seen  in  tlieir 
lives  before."  Sir  Roger  added,  that  if  these 
gentlemen  had  any  such  intention,  they  did 
not  succeed  very  well  in  it :  "  For  I  threw  them 
out,"  says  he,  "  at  the  end  of  Norfolk  Street, 
where  I  doubled  the  corner  and  got  shelter  in 
my  lodgings  before  they  could  imagine  what 
was  become  of  me.  However,"  says  the 
knight,  "  if  Captain  Sentry  will  make  one  with 
us  to-morrow  night,  and  you  will  both  of  you 
call  upon  me  about  four  o'clock,  that  we  may 
be  at  the  house  before  it  is  full,  I  will  have 
my  own  coach  in  readiness  to  attend  you, 
for  John  tells  me  he  has  got  the  fore-wheels 
mended." 

The  Captain,  who  did  not  fail  to  meet  me 
there  at  the  appointed  hour,  bid  Sir  Roger  fear 
nothing,  for  that  he  had  put  on  the  same 
sword  which  he  made  use  of  at  the  battle  of 
Steenkirk.  Sir  Roger's  servants,  and  among 
the  rest  my  old  friend  the  butler,  had,  I  found, 
provided  themselves  with  good  oaken  plants, 
to  attend  their  master  upon  this  occasion. 
When  he  had  placed  him  in  his  coach,  with 
myself  at  his  left  hand,  the  Captain  before 


122  SIE  BOOER  DE   COVERLEY 

him,  and  his  butler  at  the  head  of  his  footmen 
in  the  rear,  we  convo3'ed  him  in  safety  to  the 
playhouse,  where,  after  having  marched  up 
the  entry  in  good  ordt  r,  the  Captain  and  I 
went  in  with  him,  and  seated  him  betv\-ixt  us 
in  the  pit.  As  soon  as  the  house  was  full, 
and  the  candles  lighted,  my  old  friend  stood 
up  and  looked  about  him  with  that  pleasure, 
which  a  mind  seasoned  with  humanity  naturally 
feels  in  itself,  at  the  sight  of  a  multitude  of 
people  who  seem  pleased  with  one  another, 
and  partake  of  the  same  common  entertain- 
ment. I  could  not  but  fancy  to  myself,  as 
the  old  man  stood  up  in  the  middle  of  the  pit, 
that  he  made  a  very  proper  centre  to  a  tragic 
audience.  Upon  the  entering  of  Pyrrhus,  the 
knight  told  me  that  he  did  not  believe  the  King 
of  France  himself  had  a  better  strut.  I  was 
indeed  very  attentive  to  my  old  friend's  re- 
marks, because  I  looked  upon  them  as  a  piece 
of  natural  criticism,  and  was  well  pleased  to 
hear  him,  at  the  conclusion  of  almost  every 
scene,  telling  me  that  he  could  not  imagine 
how  the  play  would  end.  One  while  he  ap- 
peared much  concerned  for  Andromache  ;  and 
a  little  while  after  as  much  for  Hermione  ;  and 
was  extremely  puzzled  to  think  what  would 
become  of  Pyrrhus. 

When  Sir  Roger  saw  Andromache's  obsti- 
nate refusal  to  her  lover's  importunities,  he 
whispered  me  in  the  ear,  that  he  was  sure  she 
would  never  have  him ;  to  which  he  added, 
with  a  more  than  ordinary  vehemence,  "You 
can't  imagine,  Sir,  what  'tis  to  have  to  do 


AT   THE  PLAY.  123 

with  a  widow."  Upon  Pyrrlius's  threatening 
afterwards  to  leave  her,  the  knight  shook  his 
head  and  muttered  to  himself,  "  Ay,  do  if 
you  can."  This  part  dwelt  so  much  upon  my 
friend's  imagination,  that  at  tim  close  of  the 
third  act,  as  I  was  thinking  of  something  else, 
he  whispered  me  in  the  ear,  "  These  widows, 
Sir,  are  the  most  perverse  creatures  in  the 
world.  But  pray,"  says  he,  "you  that  are  a 
critic,  is  the  play  according  to  your  dramatic 
rules,  as  you  call  them?  Should  your  people 
in  tragedy  always  talk  to  be  understood? 
"Why,  there  is  not  a  single  sentence  in  this 
play  that  I  do  not  know  the  meaning  of." 

The  fourth  act  very  luckily  begun  before  I 
had  time  to  give  the  old  gentleman  an  answer. 
"Well,"  says  the  knight,  sitting  down  with 
great  satisfaction,  "  I  suppose  we  are  now  to 
see  Hector's  ghost."  He  then  renewed  his 
attention,  and,  from  time  to  time,  fell  a-prais- 
ing  the  widow.  He  made,  indeed,  a  little  mis- 
take as  to  one  of  her  pages,  whom,  at  his  first 
entering,  he  took  for  Astyanax  ;  but  quickly 
set  himself  right  in  that  particular,  though,  at 
the  same  time,  he  owned  he  should  have  been 
very  glad  to  have  seen  the  little  boy,  who, 
says  he,  must  needs  be  a  fine  child  by  the 
account  that  is  given  of  him.  Upon  Her- 
mione's  going  off  with  a  menace  to  Pyrrhus, 
the  audience  gave  a  loud  clap,  to  which  Sir 
Roger  added,  "  On  my  word,  a  notable  young 
baggage ! " 

As  there  was  a  very  remarkable  silence  and 
stillness    in   the   audience   during:   the  whole 


124  SIB  BOGEB  BE  COVEBLEY 

action,  it  was  natural  for  them  to  take  the 
opportunity  of  the  intervals  between  the  acts, 
to  express  their  opinion  of  the  players,  and  of 
their  respective  parts.  Sir  Roger  hearing  a 
•cluster  of  them  praise  Orestes,  struck  in  with 
them,  and  told  them,  that  he  thought  his 
friend  Pylades  was  a  very  sensible  man ;  as 
they  were  afterwards  applauding  Pyrrhus,  Sir 
Roger  put  in  a  second  time  :  "  And  let  me  tell 
you,"  says  he,  "  though  he  speaks  but  little, 
I  like  the  old  fellow  in  whiskers  as  well  as  any 
of  them."  Captain  Sentry  seeing  two  or  three 
wags,  who  sat  near  us,  lean  with  an  attentive 
ear  towards  Sir  Roger,  and  fearing  lest  they 
should  smoke  the  knight,  plucked  him  by  the 
elbow,  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear, 
that  lasted  till  the  opening  of  the  fifth  act. 
The  knight  was  wonderfully  attentive  to  the 
account  which  Orestes  gives  of  P^Trhus's 
death  ;  and  at  the  conclusion  of  it,  told  me  it 
was  such  a  bloody  piece  of  work,  that  he  was 
glad  it  was  not  done  upon  the  stage.  Seeing 
afterwards  Orestes  in  his  raving  fit,  he  gi*ew 
more  than  ordinary  serious,  and  took  occasion 
to  moralize  (in  his  way)  upon  an  evil  con- 
science ;  adding,  that  Orestes,  in  his  madness, 
looked  as  if  he  saw  something. 

As  we  were  the  first  that  came  into  the 
house,  so  we  were  the  last  that  went  out 
of  it ;  being  resolved  to  have  a  clear  passage 
for  our  old  friend,  whom  we  did  not  care  to 
venture  among  the  justling  of  the  crowd.  Sir 
Roger  went  out  fully  satisfied  with  his  enter- 
tainment, and  we  guarded  him  to  his  lodging 


AT  THE  PLAY.  125 

in  the  same  manner  that  we  brought  him  to 
the  playhouse ;  being  highly  pleased,  for  my 
own  part,  not  only  with  the  performance  of 
the  excellent  piece  which  had  been  presented, 
but  with  the  satisfaction  which  it  had  given 
the  old  man. 

March  25,  1712. 


Spectator.]  No.  19,  [Steelb. 

A  DAY'S  RAMBLE  IN  LONDON. 

Sine  me,  vaciTum  tempus  ne  qnod  dem  mihi 
LaboriB.  Ter. 

It  is  an  inexpressible  pleasure  to  know  a 
little  of  the  world,  and  be  of  no  character  or 
significancy  in  it. 

To  be  ever  unconcerned,  and  ever  looking 
on  new  objects  with  an  endless  curiosity,  is  a 
delight  known  only  to  those  who  are  turned 
for  speculation  :  nay,  they  who  enjoy  it,  must 
value  things  only  as  they  are  the  objects  of 
speculation,  without  drawing  any  worldly  ad- 
vantage to  themselves  from  them,  but  ju^t  as 
they  are  what  contribute  to  their  amusements, 
or  the  improvement  of  the  mind.  I  lay  one 
night  last  week  at  Richmond  ;  and,  beiug  rest- 
less not  out  of  dissatisfaction,  but  a  certain 
busy  inclination  one  sometimes  has,  I  rose  at 
four  in  the  morning,  and  took  boat  for  London, 
with  a  resolution  to  rove  by  boat  and  coach 
for  the  next  four-and-twenty  hours,  until  the 
many  different  objects  I  must  needs  meet  with 
should  tire  my  imagination,  and  give  me  an 
inclination  to  a  repose  more  profound  than  I 
was  at  that  time  capable  of.  I  beg  people's 
pardon  for  an  odd  humor  I  am  guilty  of,  and 
was  often  that  day,  which  is  saluting  any 
person  whom  I  like,  whether  I  know  him  or 


A  DAY'S  BAMBLE  IN  LOy^DOJST.      127 

not.  This  is  a  particularity  would  be  tolerated 
in  me,  if  they  considered  that  the  greatest 
pleasure  I  know  I  receive  at  my  eyes,  and 
that  I  am  obliged  to  an  agreeable  person  for 
coming  abroad  into  my  view,  as  another  is  for 
a  visit  of  conversation  at  their  own  houses. 

The  hours  of  the  day  and  night  are  taken 
up  in  the  cities  of  London  and  Westminster, 
by  people  as  different  from  each  other  as  those 
who  are  born  in  different  centuries.  Men  of 
six  a-clock  give  way  to  those  of  nine,  they  of 
nine  to  the  generation  of  twelve,  and  they  of 
twelve  disappear,  and  make  room  for  the 
fashionable  world  who  have  made  two  a-clock 
the  noon  of  the  day. 

When  we  first  put  off  from  shore,  we  soon 
fell  in  with  a  fleet  of  gardeners  bound  for  the 
several  market-ports  of  London  ;  and  it  was 
the  most  pleasing  scene  imaginable  to  see  the 
cheerfulness  with  which  those  industrious  peo- 
ple plied  their  way  to  a  certain  sale  of  their 
goods.  The  banks  on  each  side  are  as  well 
peopled,  and  beautified  with  as  agreeable  plan- 
tations as  any  spot  on  the  earth ;  but  the 
Thames  itself,  loaded  with  the  product  of 
each  shore,  added  very  much  to  the  landscape. 
It  was  very  easy  to  observe  by  their  sailing, 
and  the  countenances  of  the  ruddy  virgins, 
who  were  supercargoes,  the  parts  of  the  town 
to  which  they  were  bound.  Tliere  was  an  air 
in  the  purveyors  for  Covent  Garden,  who  fre- 
quently converse  with  morning  rakes,  very  un- 
like the  seemly  sobriety  of  those  bound  for 
Stocks  Market. 


128      A  DAY'S  RAMBLE  IX  LONDON, 

Nothing  remarkable  happened  in  our  voy- 
age ;  but  I  landed  with  ten  sail  of  apricot 
boats  at  Strand  Bridge,  after  having  put  in  at 
Nine-Elms,  and  taken  in  melons,  consigned 
by  Mr.  Cuffe  of  that  place,  to  Sarah  Sewell 
and  company,  at  their  stall  in  Covent  Garden. 
We  arrived  at  Strand  Bridge  at  six  of  the 
clock,  and  were  unloading,  when  the  hackney- 
coachmen  of  the  foregoing  night  took  their 
leave  of  each  other  at  the  Dark-house,  to  go 
to  bed  before  the  day  was  too  far  spent. 
Chimney-sweepers  passed  by  us  as  we  made 
up  to  the  market,  and  some  raillery  happened 
between  one  of  the  fruit-wenches  and  those 
black  men,  about  the  Devil  and  Eve,  with 
allusion  to  their  several  professions.  I  could 
not  believe  any  place  more  entertaining  than 
Covent  Garden ;  where  I  strolled  from  one 
fruit  shop  to  another,  with  crowds  of  agreeable 
young  women  around  me,  who  were  purchas- 
ing fruit  for  their  respective  families.  It  was 
almost  eight  of  the  clock  before  I  could  leave 
that  variety  of  objects.  I  took  coach  and  fol- 
lowed a  young  lady,  who  tripped  into  another 
just  before  me,  attended  by  her  maid.  I  saw 
immediately  she  was  of  the  family  of  the 
Vain-loves.  There  are  a  set  of  these  who  of 
all  things  affect  the  play  of  Blindman's-buff, 
and  leading  men  into  love  for  they  know  not 
whom,  who  are  fled  they  know  not  where. 
This  sort  of  woman  is  usually  a  jaunty  slat- 
tern ;  she  hangs  on  her  clothes,  plaj's  her 
head,  varies  her  posture,  and  changes  place 
incessantly ;    and  all  with  an  appearance  of 


A  DAY'S  B AMBLE  IN  LONDON.      129 

striving  at  the  same  time  to  hide  herself,  and 
yet  give  you  to  understand  she  is  in  humor  to 
laugh  at  you.  You  must  have  often  seen  the 
coachmen  make  signs  with  their  fingers  as  they 
drive  by  each  other,  to  intimate  how  much 
they  have  got  that  day.  They  can  carry  on 
that  language  to  give  intelligence  where  they 
are  driving.  In  an  instant  my  coachman  took 
the  wink  to  pursue,  and  the  lady's  driver  gave 
the  hint  that  he  was  going  through  Long- 
Acre,  towards  St.  James's.  While  he  whipped 
up  James  Street,  we  drove  for  King  Street, 
to  save  the  pass  at  St.  Martin's  Lane.  The 
coachmen  took  care  to  meet,  jostle,  and  threaten 
each  other  for  way,  and  be  entangled  at  the 
end  of  Newport  Street  and  Long-Acre.  The 
fright,  you  must  believe,  brought  down  the 
lady's  coach-door,  and  obliged  her,  with  her 
mask  off,  to  enquire  into  the  bustle,  when 
she  sees  the  man  she  would  avoid.  The 
tackle  of  the  coach-window  is  so  bad  she  can- 
not draw  it  up  again,  and  she  drives  on  some- 
times wholly  discovered,  and  sometimes  half 
escaped,  according  to  the  accident  of  car- 
riages in  her  way.  One  of  these  ladies  keeps 
her  seat  in  a  hackney-coach,  as  well  as  the 
best  rider  does  on  a  managed  horse.  The 
laced  shoe  of  her  left  foot,  with  a  careless 
gesture,  just  appearing  on  the  opposite  cushion, 
held  her  both  firm,  and  in  a  proper  attitude  to 
receive  the  next  jolt. 

As   she   was    an    excellent    coach-woman, 
many  were  the  glances  at  each  other  which 
we  had  for  an  hour  and  an  half,  in  all  parts  of 
9 


130      A  DAY'S  BAMBLE  IN  LONDON. 

the  town,  by  the  skill  of  our  drivers  ;  unlil  at 
last  my  lad3'  was  conveniently  lost  with  notice 
from  hvT  coachman  to  ours  to  make  off,  and 
he  should  hear  where  she  went.  This  chase 
was  now  at  an  end,  and  the  fellow  who  drove 
her  came  to  us,  and  discovered  that  he  was 
ordered  to  come  again  in  an  hour,  for  that 
she  was  a  ISilk-worm.  I  was  surprised  with 
this  phrase,  but  found  it  was  a  cant  among  the 
hackney  fraternity  for  their  best  customers, 
women  who  ramble  twice  or  thrice  a  week 
from  sh{  p  to  shop,  to  turn  over  ad  the  goods 
in  town  without  buying  anything.  The  Silk- 
worms are,  it  seems,  indulged  by  the  trades- 
men ;  for  though  they  never  buy,  they  are  ever 
talking  of  new  silks,  laces,  and  ribbons,  and 
serve  the  owners,  in  getting  them  customers 
as  their  common  dunners  do  in  making  them 
pay. 

The  day  of  people  of  fashion  began  now 
to  break,  and  carts  and  hacks  were  mingled 
with  equipages  of  show  and  vanity  ;  when  I 
resolved  to  walk  it  out  of  cheapness  ;  but  my 
unhappy  curiosity  is  such,  that  I  find  it  always 
my  interest  to  take  coach,  for  some  odd 
adventure  among  beggars,  ballad-singers,  or 
the  like,  detains  and  throws  me  into  expense. 
It  happened  so  immediately  ;  for  at  the  corner 
of  Warwick  Street,  as  I  was  listening  to  a 
new  ballad,  a  ragged  rascal,  a  beggar  who 
knew  me,  came  up  to  me,  and  began  to  turn 
the  eyes  of  the  good  company  upon  me,  by 
telling  me  he  was  extreme  poor,  and  should 
die  in  the  street  for  want  of  drink,  except  I 


A  BAY'S  B AMBLE  AY  LONDON.      131 

immediately  would  have  the  charity  to  give 
him  sixpeuce  to  go  into  the  next  alehouse  and 
save  bis  life.  He  urged,  with  a  me  anchol}^ 
face,  that  all  his  family  had  died  of  thirst. 
All  the  mob  have  humor,  and  two  or  three 
began  to  talve  the  jest ;  by  which  Mr.  Sturdy 
carried  his  point,  and  let  me  sneak  off  to  a 
coach.  As  I  (h-ove  along,  it  was  a  pleasinp^ 
reflection  to  see  the  world  so  prettily  checkered 
since  I  left  Richmond,  and  the  scene  still 
filling  with  children  of  a  new  hour.  This  sat- 
isfaction increased  as  I  moved  towards  the 
city,  and  gay  signs,  well-disposed  streets,  mag- 
nificent public  structures,  and  wealthy  shops, 
adorned  with  contented  faces,  made  the  joy 
still  rising  till  we  came  into  the  centre  of  the 
city,  and  centre  of  the  world  of  trade,  the 
Exchange  of  London.  As  other  men  in  the 
crowds  about  me  were  pleased  with  their  hopes 
and  bargains,  I  found  my  account  in  observing 
them,  in  attention  to  their  several  interests. 
I,  indeed,  looked  upon  myself  as  the  richest 
man  that  walked  the  Exchange  that  da}' ;  for 
my  benevolence  made  me  share  the  gains  of 
every  bargain  that  was  made.  It  was  not  the 
least  of  my  satisfactions  in  my  survey,  to 
go  up-stairs,  and  pass  the  shops  of  agreeable 
females ;  to  obsei-ve  so  many  pretty  hands 
busy  in  the  folding  of  ribbons,  and  the  utUiOst 
eagerness  of  agreeable  faces  in  the  sale  of 
patches,  pins,  and  wires,  on  each  side  the 
counters,  was  an  amusement  in  which  I  should 
longer  have  indulged  myself,  had  not  the  dear 
creatures  called  to  me  to  ask  what  I  wanted, 


132      A  BAT'S  B AMBLE  IN  LONDON. 

when  I  could  not  answer,  only  ' '  To  look  at 
you."  I  went  to  one  of  the  windows  which 
opened  to  the  area  below,  where  all  the  several 
voices  lost  their  distinction,  and  rose  up  in  a 
confused  humming,  which  created  in  me  a 
reflection  that  could  not  come  into  the  mind 
of  any  but  of  one  a  little  too  studious  ;  for  I 
said  to  myself,  with  a  kind  of  pun  in  thought, 
"  What  nonsense  is  all  the  hun-y  of  this 
world  to  those  who  are  above  it?"  In  these, 
or  not  much  wiser  thoughts,  I  had  like  to  have 
lost  my  plice  at  the  chop-house,  where  every 
man,  according  to  the  natural  bashfulness  or 
sullenness  of  our  nation,  eats  in  a  public 
room  a  mess  of  broth,  or  chop  of  meat,  in 
dumb  silence,  as  if  they  had  no  pret^ce  to 
speak  to  each  other  on  the  foot  of  being  men, 
except  they  were  of  each  other's  acquaintance. 
I  went  afterwards  to  Robin's,  and  saw  peo- 
ple who  had  dined  with  me  at  the  fivepenny 
ordinary  just  before,  give  bills  for  the  value  of 
large  estates ;  and  could  not  but  behold  with 
great  pleasure,  property  lodged  in,  and  trans- 
ferred in  a  moment  from  such  as  would  never 
be  masters  of  half  as  much  as  is  seemingly 
in  them,  and  given  from  them  every  day  they 
live.  But  before  five  in  the  afternoon  I  left 
the  city,  came  to  my  common  scene  of  Covent 
Garden,  and  passed  the  evening  at  Will's, 
in  attending  the  discourses  of  several  sets  of 
people,  who  relieved  each  other  within  my 
hearing  on  the  subject  of  cards,  dice,  love, 
learning,  and  politics.  The  last  subject  kept 
me  until  I  heard  the  streets  in  the  possession 


A  DAY'S  BAMBLE  IN  LONDON.      133 

of  the  bell-man,  who  had  now  the  world  to 
himself,  and  cried,  "  Past  two  of  the  clock." 
This  roused  me  from  my  seat,  and  I  went  to 
my  lodging,  led  by  a  light,  whom  I  put  into 
the  discourse  of  his  private  economy,  and 
made  him  give  me  an  account  of  the  charge, 
hazard,  profit,  and  loss  of  a  family  that  de- 
pended upon  a  link,  with  a  design  to  end  ray 
trivial  day  with  the  generosity  of  sixpence, 
instead  of  a  third  part  of  that  sum.  When  I 
came  to  my  chambers  I  writ  down  these  min- 
utes ;  but  was  at  a  loss  what  instruction  I 
should  propose  to  my  reader  from  the  enumera- 
tion of  so  many  insignificant  matters  and  oc- 
currences ;  and  I  thought  it  of  great  use,  if 
they  could  learn  with  me  to  keep  their  minds 
open  to  gratification,  and  ready  to  receive  it 
from  anything  it  meets  with.  This  one  cir- 
cumstance will  make  every  face  you  see  give 
you  the  satisfaction  you  now  take  in  beholding 
that  of  a  friend ;  will  make  every  object  a 
pleasing  one ;  will  make  all  the  good  which 
arrives  to  any  man,  an  increase  of  happiness 
to  yourself. 

August  11,  1712. 


Bpbctatob.]  ITo.    20.  [Stbelb. 

DICK  ESTCOUET:  IN  MEMOEIAM. 

Erat  homo  ingeniosus,  acutus,  acer,  et  qui  plurimum  et  salis 
haberet  et  fellis,  nee  candoris  miuus.  —  Plin. 

My  paper  is  in  a  kind  a  letter  of  news,  but 
it  regards  rather  what  passes  in  the  world  of 
conversation  than  that  of  business.  I  am  very 
sorry  that  I  have  at  present  a  circumstance 
before  me,  which  is  of  very  great  importance 
to  all  who  have  a  relish  for  gayety,  wit,  mirth, 
or  humor ;  I  mean  the  death  of  poor  Dick 
Estcourt.  I  have  bei  n  obliged  to  him  for  so 
many  hours  of  jollit}^  that  it  is  but  a  small 
recompense,  though  all  I  can  give  him,  to  pass 
a  moment  or  two  in  sadness  for  the  loss  of  so 
agreeable  a  man.  Poor  Estcourt !  the  last 
time  I  saw  him,  we  were  plotting  to  shew  the 
town  his  great  capacity  for  acting  in  its  full 
light,  by  introducing  him  as  dictating  to  a  set 
of  young  players  in  what  manner  to  speak  this 
sentence,  and  utter  t'  other  passion.  —  He  had 
so  exquisite  a  discerning  of  what  was  defective 
in  any  object  before  him,  that  in  an  instant  he 
could  shew  you  the  ridiculous  side  of  what 
would  pass  for  beautiful  and  just,  even  to 
men  of  no  ill  judgment,  before  he  had  pointed 
at  the  failure.  He  was  no  less  skilful  in  the 
knowledge  of  beauty;  and.  I  daie  say,  there 
is  no  one  who  knew  him  well,  but  can  repeat 


DICK  E Sr COURT:   m  MEMORIAM.    136 

more  well-turned  compliments,  as  well  as 
smart  repartees,  of  Mr.  Estcourt's,  than  of 
any  other  man  in  England.  This  was  easily 
to  be  observed  in  his  inimitable  faculty  of  tell- 
ing a  story,  in  which  he  would  throw  in  natural 
and  unexpected  incidents  to  make  his  court  to 
one  part,  and  rally  the  other  part  of  the  com- 
pany :  then  he  would  vary  the  usage  he  gave 
them,  according  as  he  saw  them  bear  kind  or 
sharp  language.  He  had  the  knack  to  raise 
up  a  pensive  temper,  and  mortify  an  imperti- 
nently gay  one,  with  the  most  agreeable  skill 
imaginable.  There  are  a  thousand  things 
which  crowd  into  my  memory,  which  make  me 
too  much  concerned  to  tell  on  about  him. 
Hamlet  holding  up  the  skull  which  the  grave- 
digger  threw  to  him,  with  an  account  that  it 
was  the  head  of  the  king's  jester,  falls  into 
very  pleasing  reflections,  and  cries  out  to  his 
companion :  — 

"  Alas,  poor  Yorick !  I  knew  him,  Horatio  : 
a  fellow  of  infinite  jest,  of  most  excellent 
fancy :  he  hath  borne  me  on  his  back  a  thou- 
sand times  ;  and  how  abhorred  in  my  imagina- 
tion it  is !  my  gorge  rises  at  it.  Here  hung 
those  lips  that  1  have  kissed  I  know  not  how 
oft.  Where  be  your  gibes  now  ?  your  gam- 
bols ?  your  songs  ?  your  flashes  of  merriment, 
that  were  wont  to  set  the  table  on  a  roar? 
Not  one  now  to  mock  your  own  grinning? 
quite  chop-fallen  ?  Now  get  you  to  my  lad3''8 
chamber,  and  tell  her,  let  her  paint  an  inch 
thick,  to  this  favor  she  must  come  ;  make  her 
laugh  at  that." 


136    DICK  ESTCOUBT:   IN  MEMOBIAM. 

It  is  an  insolence  natural  to  the  wealthy,  to 
affix,  as  much  as  in  them  lies,  the  chai'acter  of 
a  man  to  his  cii'cumstances.  Thus  it  is  ordi- 
nary with  them  to  praise  faintly  the  good 
qualities  of  those  below  them,  and  say,  it  is 
very  extraordinary  in  such  a  man  as  he  is,  or 
the  like,  when  they  are  forced  to  acknowledge 
the  value  of  him  whose  lowness  upbraids  their 
exaltation.  It  is  to  this  humor  only,  that  it  is 
to  be  ascribed  that  a  quick  wit  in  conversation, 
a  nice  judgment  upon  any  emergency  that 
could  arise,  and  a  most  blameless  inoffensive 
behavior  could  not  raise  this  man  above  being 
received  only  upon  the  foot  of  contributing  to 
mirth  and  diversion.  But  he  was  as  easy 
under  that  condition,  as  a  man  of  so  excellent 
talents  was  capable,  and  since  they  would 
have  it  that  to  divert  was  his  business,  he  did 
it  with  all  the  seeming  alacrity  imaginable, 
though  it  stung  him  to  the  heart  that  it  was 
his  business.  Men  of  sense,  who  could  taste 
his  excellences,  were  well  satisfied  to  let  him 
lead  the  way  in  conversation,  and  play  after 
his  own  manner  ;  but  fools  who  provoked  him 
to  mimicry,  found  he  had  the  indignation  to 
let  it  be  at  their  expense,  who  called  for  it, 
and  he  would  show  the  form  of  conceited 
heavy  fellows  as  jests  to  the  company  at  their 
own  request,  in  revenge  for  interrupting  him 
from  being  a  companion  to  put  on  the  charac- 
ter of  a  jester. 

What  was  peculiarl}-  excellent  in  this  memo- 
rable companion  was,  that  in  the  account  he 
gave  of  persons  and  sentiments,  he  did   not 


DICK  ESTCOURT:   IN  MEMO  EMM.    137 

only  hit  the  figure  of  their  faces,  and  manner 
of  their  gestures,  but  he  would  in  his  narra- 
tion fall  into  their  very  way  of  thinking,  and 
this  when  he  recounted  passages  wherein  men 
of  the  best  wit  were  concerned,  as  well  as 
such  wherein  were  represented  men  of  the 
lowest  rank  of  understanding.  It  is  certainly 
as  great  an  instance  of  self-love  to  a  weak- 
ness, to  be  impatient  of  being  mimicked,  as 
any  can  be  imagined.  There  were  none  but 
the  vain,  the  formal,  the  proud,  or  those  who 
were  incapable  of  amending  their  faults,  that 
dreaded  him ;  to  others  he  was  in  the  highest 
degree  pleasing ;  and  I  do  not  know  any  satis- 
faction of  any  indifferent  kind  I  ever  tasted 
so  much  as  having  got  over  an  impatience  of 
my  seeing  myself  in  the  air  he  could  put  me 
when  I  have  displeased  him.  It  is  indeed  to 
his  exquisite  talent  this  way,  more  than  any 
philosophy  I  could  read  on  the  subject,  that 
my  person  is  very  little  of  my  care,  and  it  is 
indifferent  to  me  what  is  said  of  my  shape,  my 
air,  my  manner,  my  speech,  or  my  address. 
It  is  to  poor  Estcourt  I  chiefly  owe  that  I  am 
arrived  at  the  happiness  of  thinking  nothing 
a  diminution  to  me  but  what  argues  a  deprav- 
ity of  my  will. 

It  has  as  much  surprised  me  as  anything  in 
nature,  to  have  it  frequently  said.  That  he 
was  not  a  good  player :  but  that  must  be  ow- 
ing to  a  partiality  for  former  actors  in  the 
parts  in  which  he  succeeded  them,  and  judging 
by  Qpmparison  of  what  was  liked  before, 
rather  than  bv  the  nature,  of  the  thing.     When 


138   DICK  E8TC0UBT:  IN  MEMORIAM. 

a  man  of  his  wit  and  smartness  could  put  on 
an  utter  absence  of  common  sense  in  his  face, 
as  he  did  in  the  character  of  Bullfinch  in  the 
Northern  Lass,  and  an  air  of  insipid  cunning 
and  vivacity  in  the  character  of  Pounce  in  the 
Tender  Husband,  it  is  folly  to  dispute  his  ca- 
pacity and  success,  as  he  was  an  actor. 

Poor  Estcourt !  let  the  vain  and  proud  be  at 
rest,  they  will  no  more  disturb  their  admiration 
of  their  dear  selves,  and  thou  art  no  longer  to 
drudge  in  raising  the  mirth  of  stupids,  who 
know  nothing  of  thy  merit,  for  thy  mainte- 
nance. 

It  is  natural  for  the  generality  of  mankind 
to  run  into  reflections  upon  our  mortalit}', 
when  disturbers  of  the  world  are  laid  at  rest, 
but  to  take  no  notice  wlien  they  who  can 
please  and  divert  are  pulled  from  us  :  but  for 
my  part,  I  cannot  but  think  the  loss  of  such 
talents  as  the  man  of  whom  I  am  speaking 
was  master  of,  a  more  melancholy  instance  of 
mortality  than  the  dissolution  of  persons  of 
never  so  high  characters  in  the  world,  whose 
pretensions  were  that  they  were  noisy  and 
mischievous. 

But  I  must  grow  more  succinct,  and  as  a 
Spectator,  give  an  account  of  this  extraordi- 
nary man,  who,  in  his  way,  never  had  an  equal 
in  any  age  before  him,  or  in  that  wherein  he 
lived.  I  speak  of  him  as  a  companion,  and  a 
man  qualified  for  conversation.  His  fortune 
exposed  him  to  an  obsequiousness  towards  the 
worst  sort  of  company,  but  his  excellent  qual- 
ities rendered  him  capable  of  making  the  best 


DICK  E8TC0UBT:   IN  MEMOBIAM.    139 

figure  ill  the  most  refined.  I  have  been  pres- 
ent with  him  among  men  of  the  most  delicate 
taste  a  whole  night,  and  have  known  him  (for 
he  saw  it  was  desired)  keep  the  discourse  to 
himself  the  most  part  of  it,  and  maintain  his 
good-humor  with  a  countenance  in  a  language 
so  delightful,  without  offence  to  any  person  or 
thing  upon  earth,  still  preserving  the  distance 
his  circumstances  obliged  him  to ;  I  say,  I 
have  seen  him  do  all  this  in  such  a  charming 
manner,  that  I  am  sure  none  of  those  I  hint  at 
will  read  this,  without  giving  him  some  sorrow 
for  their  abundant  mirth,  and  one  gush  of 
tears  for  so  many  bursts  of  laughter.  I  wish 
it  were  any  honor  to  the  pleasant  creature's 
memory,  that  my  eyes  are  too  much  suffused 
to  let  me  go  on  — 

August  27,  1712. 


Spbctatob.]         No.  SI.         [Addison. 

DEATH  or  SIR  ROGER  DE  COVERLET. 

Hen  pletas !    Heu  prisca  fides ! .  .  .     Tirg. 

We  last  night  received  a  piece  of  ill  news 
at  our  club,  which  very  sensibly  afflicted  every 
one  of  us.  I  question  not  but  my  readers 
themselves  will  be  troubled  at  the  hearing  of 
it.  To  keep  them  no  longer  in  suspense,  Sir 
Roger  de  Coverley  is  dead.  He  departed  this 
life  at  his  house  in  the  country,  after  a  few 
weeks'  sickness.  Sir  Andrew  Freeport  has  a 
letter  from  one  of  his  correspondents  in  tliose 
parts,  that  informs  him  the  old  man  caught  a 
cold  at  the  county  sessions,  as  he  was  very 
warmly  promoting  an  address  of  his  own  pen- 
ning, in  whicli  he  succeeded  according  to  his 
wishes.  But  this  particular  comes  from  a 
Whig  justice  of  peace,  who  was  always  Sir 
Roger's  enemy  and  antagonist.  I  have  letters 
both  from  the  chaplain  and  Captain  Sentry 
which  mention  nothing  of  it,  but  are  filled 
witli  many  particulars  to  the  honor  of  the 
good  old  man.  I  have  likewise  a  letter  from 
the  butler,  who  took  so  much  care  of  me  last 
summer  when  I  was  at  the  knight's  house. 
As  my  friend  the  butler  mentions,  in  the 
simplicity  of  his  heart,  several  circumstances 
the  others  have  passed  over  in  silence,  I  shall 


Sm  BOGEB  DE  COVERLET.  141 

give  my  reader  a  copy  of  his  letter,  without 
any  alteration  or  diminution. 

Honored  Sir,  —  Knowing  that  you  was  my 
.old  master's  good  friend,  1  could  not  forbear 
sending  you  the  melancholy  news  of  his  death, 
which  has  affected  the  whole  country,  as  well 
as  his  poor  servants,  who  loved  hun,  I  may 
say,  better  than  we  did  our  lives.  I  am 
afraid  he  caught  his  death  the  last  county 
sessions,  where  he  would  go  to  see  justice 
done  to  a  poor  widow  woman  and  her  father- 
less children,  that  had  been  wronged  by  a 
neighboring  gentleman ;  for  you  know,  Sir, 
my  good  master  was  always  the  poor  man's 
friend.  Upon  his  coming  home,  the  first  com- 
plaint he  made  was,  that  he  had  lost  his  roast- 
beef  stomach,  not  being  able  to  touch  a  sir- 
loin, which  was  served  up  according  to  cus- 
tom ;  and  you  know  he  used  to  take  great 
delight  in  it.  From  that  time  forward  he 
grew  worse  and  worse,  but  still  kept  a  good 
heart  to  the  last.  Indeed,  we  were  once  in 
great  hope  of  his  recovery,  upon  a  kind  mes- 
sage that  was  sent  him  f i  om  the  widow  lady 
whom  he  had  made  love  to  the  forty  last  years 
of  his  life  ;  but  this  only  proved  a  light'ning 
before  death.  He  has  bequeathed  to  this 
lady,  as  a  token  of  his  love,  a  great  pearl 
necklace,  and  a  couple  of  silver  bracelets  set 
with  jewels,  which  belonged  to  my  good  old  lady 
his  mother :  he  has  bequeathed  the  fine  white 
gelding,  that  be  used  to  ride  a-hunting  upon, 
to  his  chaplain,  because  he  thought  he  would 


142  DEATH  OF 

be  kind  to  Him,  and  has  left  you  all  his  books. 
He  has,  moreover,  bequeathed  to  the  chaplain 
a  very  pretty  tenement  with  good  lands  about 
it.  It  being  a  vei-y  cold  day  when  he  made 
his  will,  he  left  for  mourning,  to  every  man 
in  the  parish,  a  great  frieze  coat,  and  to  every 
woman  a  black  riding-hood.  It  was  a  most 
moving  sight  to  see  him  take  leave  of  his  poor 
servants,  commending  us  all  for  our  fidelity, 
whilst  we  "were  not  able  to  speak  a  word  for 
weeping.  As  we  most  of  us  are  grown  gray- 
headed  in  our  dear  master's  service,  he  has 
left  us  pensions  and  legacies,  which  we  may 
live  very  comfortably  upon,  the  remaining 
part  of  our  days.  He  has  bequeathed  a  great 
deal  more  in  charity,  which  is  not  yet  come  to 
my  knowledge,  and  it  is  peremptorily  said  in 
the  parish,  that  he  has  left  money  to  build  a 
steeple  to  the  church  ;  for  he  was  heard  to  say 
some  time  ago,  that  if  lie  lived  two  years 
longer,  Coverley  church  should  have  a  steeple 
to  it.  The  chaplain  tells  everybody  that  he 
made  a  very  good  end,  and  never  speaks  of 
him  without  tears.  He  was  buried,  according 
to  his  own  directions,  among  the  family  of  the 
Coverlej's,  on  the  left-hand  of  his  father  Sir 
Arthur.  The  coffin  was  carried  by  six  of  his 
tenants,  and  the  pall  held  up  by  six  of  the 
quorum  :  the  whole  parish  followed  the  corpse 
with  heavy  hearts,  and  in  their  mourning 
suits,  the  men  in  frieze,  and  the  women  in 
riding-hoods.  Captain  Sentry,  my  master's 
nephew,  has  taken  possession  of  the  Hall- 
House,  and  the  whole  estate.    "When  my  old 


SIB  liOGER  DE   COVERLEY.  143 

master  saw  him  a  little  before  bis  death,  he 
shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  wished  him  joy 
of  the  estate  which  was  falling  to  him,  desir- 
ing him  only  to  make  a  good  use  of  it,  and 
pay  the  several  legacies  and  the  gifts  of 
charity  which  he  told  him  he  had  left  as  quit- 
rents  upon  the  estate.  The  captain  truly 
seems  a  courteous  man,  though  he  says  but 
little.  He  makes  much  of  those  whom  mj' 
master  loved,  and  shows  great  kindness  to  the 
old  house-dog,  that  you  know  my  poor  master 
was  so  fond  of.  It  would  have  gone  to  your 
heart  to  have  heard  the  moans  the  dumb 
creature  made  on  the  day  of  my  master's 
death.  He  has  never  joyed  himself  since ; 
no  more  has  any  of  us.  It  was  the  melan- 
choliest  day  for  the  poor  people  that  ever 
happened  in  Worcestershire.  This  being  all 
from,  honored  Sir, 

Your  most  sorrowful  servant, 

Edward  Biscuit. 

P.  S.  My  master  desu-ed,  some  weeks  be- 
fore he  died,  that  a  book,  which  comes  up  to 
you  by  the  carrier,  should  be  given  up  to  Sir 
Andrew  Freeport,  in  his  name. 

This  letter,  notwithstanding  the  poor  but- 
ler's manner  of  writing  it,  gave  us  such  an 
idea  of  our  good  old  friend  that  upon  the 
reading  of  it  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the 
club.  Sir  Andrew,  opening  the  book,  found 
it  to  be  a  collection  of  acts  of  parliament. 
There  was  in  particular  the  Act  of  Uniformity, 


144  SIB  BOQER  BE  COVERLET. 

with  some  passages  in  it  marked  by  Sir  Eoger's 
own  hand.  Sir  Andrew  found  that  they  re- 
lated to  two  or  three  points,  which  he  had 
disputed  with  Sir  Roger  the  last  time  he  had 
appeared  at  the  club.  Sir  Andrew,  who  would 
have  been  merry  at  such  an  incident  on  an- 
other occasion,  at  the  sight  of  the  old  man's 
handwriting  burst  into  tears,  and  put  the  book 
into  his  pocket.  Captain  Sentry  informs  me 
that  the  knight  has  left  rings  and  mourning 
for  every  one  in  the  club. 

OCTOBBB  28,   1712. 


Fkbb-holdbb.]  No.  S3.  [Addison. 

THE  TOKY  POX-HUNTEE. 

Studiis  rudis,  sermone  barbarne,  impetu  strcnuus,  manu 
promptus,  cogitatione  celer.  —  Veil.  Paterc. 

For  the  honor  of  his  Majesty,  and  the  safety 
of  his  government,  we  cannot  but  observe,  that 
those,  who  have  appeared  the  greatest  enemies 
to  both,  are  of  that  rank  of  men,  who  are  com- 
monly distinguished  by  the  title  of  Fox-hunt- 
ers. As  several  of  these  have  had  no  part 
of  their  education  in  cities,  camps,  or  courts, 
it  is  doubtful  whether  they  are  of  greater  orna- 
ment or  use  to  the  nation  in  which  tliey  live. 
It  would  be  an  everlasting  reproach  to  politics, 
should  such  men  be  able  to  overturn  an  estab- 
lishment which  has  been  formed  by  the  wisest 
laws,  and  is  supported  by  the  ablest  heads. 
The  wrong  notions  and  prejudices  which  cleave 
to  many  of  these  country  gentlemen,  who  have 
always  lived  out  of  the  way  of  being  better 
informed,  are  not  easy  to  be  conceived  by  a 
person  who  has  never  conversed  with  them. 

That  I  may  give  my  readers  an  image  of 
these  rural  st  itesmen,  I  shall,  without  further 
preface,  set  down  an  account  of  a  discourse  I 
chanced  to  have  with  one  of  them  some  time 
ago.  I  was  travelling  towards  one  of  the  re- 
motest parts  of  England,  when  about  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  seeing  a  country 
10 


146  THE   TOBY  FOX-HUNTEB. 

gentleman  trotting  before  me  with  a  spaniel  by 
his  horse's  side,  I  made  up  to  him.  Our  con- 
versation opened,  as  usual,  upon  the  weather ; 
in  which  we  were  very  unanimous  ;  having  both 
agreed  that  it  was  too  dry  for  the  season  of 
the  year.  My  fellow-traveller,  upon  this,  ob- 
served to  me,  that  there  had  been  no  good 
weather  since  the  Revolution.  I  was  a  little 
startled  at  so  extraordinary  a  remark,  but 
would  not  interrupt  him  until  he  proceeded  to 
tell  me  of  the  fine  weather  they  used  to  have  in 
King  Charles  the  Second's  reign.  I  only  an- 
swered that  I  did  not  see  how  the  badness  of  the 
weather  could  be  the  king's  fault ;  and  without 
waiting  for  his  reply,  asked  him  whose  ho^  se 
it  was  we  saw  upon  a  rising  ground  at  a  little 
distance  from  us.  He  told  me  it  belonged  to 
an  old  fanatical  cur,  Mr.  Such-a-one.  "  You 
must  have  heard  of  him,"  says  he,  "he's  one 
of  the  Rump."  I  knew  the  gentlemsm's  char- 
acter upon  hearing  his  name,  but  assured  him 
that  to  my  knowledge  he  was  a  good  church- 
man. "  Ay  !  "  says  he  with  a  kind  of  surprise, 
"  we  were  told  in  the  country,  that  he  spoke 
twice  in  the  queen's  time  against  taking  off  the 
duties  upon  French  claret."  This  n:tturally 
led  us  into  the  proceedings  of  late  parliaments, 
upon  which  occasion  he  affirmed  roundly,  that 
there  had  not  been  one  good  law  passed  since 
King  William's  accession  to  the  throne,  except 
the  act  for  preserving  the  game.  I  had  a  mind 
to  see  him  out,  and  therefore,  did  not  care  for 
contradicting  him.  "  Is  it  not  hard,"  says  he, 
"  that  honest  gentlemen  should  be  taken  into 


THE   TOBY  FOX-HUNTEB.  147 

custody  of  messengers  to  prevent  them  from 
acting  according  to  their  consciences  ?  But," 
says  he,  "  what  can  we  expect  when  a  parcel 
of  factious  sons  of  —  "  He  was  going  on  in 
great  passion,  but  chanced  to  miss  his  dog, 
who  was  amusing  himself  about  a  bush  that 
grew  at  some  distance  behind  us.  We  stood 
still  till  he  had  whistled  him  up  ;  when  he  fe!l 
into  a  long  panegyric  upon  his  spaniel,  who 
seemed  indeed  excellent  in  his  kind :  but  I 
found  the  most  remarJcable  adventure  of  his 
life  was,  that  he  had  once  like  to  have  worried 
a  dissenting  teacher.  The  m  stor  could  hardly 
sit  on  his  horse  for  laughing  all  the  while  he 
was  giving  me  the  particulars  of  this  story, 
which  I  found  had  mightily  endeared  his  dog 
to  him,  and,  as  he  himself  told  me,  had  made 
him  a  great  favorite  with  all  the  honest  gentle- 
men of  the  country.  We  were  at  length  di- 
verted from  this  piece  of  mirth  by  a  post-boy, 
who  winding  his  horn  at  us,  my  companion 
gave  h'm  two  or  three  curses,  and  left  the  way 
c'eai-  for  him.  "I  fancy,"  said  I,  "  that  post 
brings  news  from  Scotland.  I  shall  long  to 
see  the  next  Gazette."  —  "Sir,"  says  he,  *'I 
make  it  a  rule  never  to  believe  any  of  your 
printed  news.  We  never  see,  sir,  how  things 
go,  except  now  and  then  in  '  Dyer's  Letter,' 
and  I  read  that  more  for  the  style  than  the 
news.  Tiie  man  has  a  clever  pen,  it  must  be 
owned.  But  is  it  not  strange  that  we  should 
be  making  war  upon  Church-of- England  men, 
with  Dutch  and  Swiss  soldiers,  men  of  anti- 
monarchical  principles?    These  foreigners  will 


148  THE   TOBY  FOX-HUNTER. 

never  be  loved  iu  England,  sir ;  they  have  not 
that  wit  and  good-breeding  that  we  have."  I 
must  confess  I  did  not  expect  to  hear  luy  new 
acquaintance  value  himself  upon  these  qunlifi- 
cations ;  but  finding  him  such  a  critic  upon 
foreigners,  I  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  trav- 
elled. He  told  me,  he  did  not  know  what 
travelling  was  good  for,  but  to  teach  a  man 
to  ride  the  great  horse,  to  jabber  French,  and 
to  talk  against  passive  obedience.  To  which 
he  added,  that  he  scarce  ever  knew  a  traveller 
in  his  life  who  had  not  forsook  his  principh  s 
and  lost  his  hunting  seat.  "  For  my  part," 
says  he,  "  I  and  my  father  before  me  have 
always  been  for  passive  obedience,  and  shall 
be  always  for  opposing  a  prince  who  makes 
use  of  ministers  that  are  of  another  opinion. 
But  where  do  you  intend  to  inn  to-night  ? " 
(for  we  were  now  come  in  sight  of  the  next 
town;)  "I  can  help  you  to  a  very  good 
landlord  if  you  will  go  along  with  me.  He  is 
a  lusty,  jolly  fellow,  that  lives  well,-  at  least 
three  yards  in  the  girth,  and  the  best  Church- 
of-England  man  upon  the  road."  I  had  the 
curiosity  to  see  this  high-cliurch  innkeeper, 
as  well  as  to  enjoy  more  of  the  conversation 
of  my  fi'llow-traveller,  and  therefore  readih'^ 
consented  to  set  our  horses  together  for  that 
night.  As  we  rode  side  by  side  through  the 
town,  I  was  let  into  the  characters  of  all  the  prin- 
cipal inhabitants  who  n  we  met  in  our  way. 
One  was  a  dog,  another  a  wh  ilp,  and  another 
a  cur,  under  which  several  denominations  were 
comprehended  all  that  voted  on  the  Whig  side 


THE   TOBY  FOX-HUXTEB.  H9 

in  the  last  election  of  burgesses.  As  for  those 
of  his  own  party,  he  distinguished  them  by  a 
nod  of  his  head,  and  asking  them  how  they 
did  by  their  Christian  names.  U['On  our 
arrival  at  the  inn,  my  companion  fetched  out 
the  jolly  landlord,  who  knew  him  by  his  whistlo. 
Many  endearments  and  private  whispei'S  passed 
between  them,  though  it  was  easy  to  see  by 
the  landlord's  scratching  his  head  that  things 
did  not  go  to  their  wishes.  The  landlord  had 
swelled  his  body  to  a  prodigious  size,  and 
worked  up  his  complexion  to  a  standing  crim- 
son b}'  his  zeal  for  the  prosperity  of  the 
Church,  which  he  expressed  every  hour  of  the 
day,  as  his  customers  dropt  in,  by  repeated 
bumpers.  He  had  not  time  to  go  to  church 
himself,  but,  as  my  friend  told  me  in  my  ear, 
had  headed  a  mob  at  the  pulling  down  of  two 
or  three  meeting-houses.  While  supper  was 
preparing,  he  enlarged  upon  the  happiness  of 
the  neighboring  shire  ;  "■  For,"  sa^'s  he,  "  there 
is  scarce  a  Presbyterian  in  the  whole  county 
except  the  bishop."  In  short,  I  found  by  his 
discourse  that  he  had  learned  a  great  deal  of 
politics,  but  not  one  word  of  religion,  from 
the  parson  of  his  parish  ;  and  indeed,  that  he 
liad  scarce  any  other  notion  of  religion,  but 
that  it  consisted  in  hating  Presbyterians.  I 
had  a  remarkable  instance  of  his  notions  in 
this  particular.  Upon  seeing  a  poor  decrepit 
old  woman  pass  under  the  window  where  he 
sat,  he  desired  me  to  take  notice  of  her ;  and 
afterwards  informed  me,  that  she  was  gener- 
ally  reputed   a  witch  by  the  country  people, 


150  THE   TOBY  FOX-HUXTEIi: 

but  that,  for  his  part,   he  was  apt  to  believe 
she  was  a  Presby teriau . 

Supper  was  no  sooner  served  in,  than  he 
took  occasion,  from  a  shoulder  of  mutton  that 
lay  before  us,  to  cry  up  the  plenty  of  England, 
which  would  be  the  happiest  country  in  the 
world,  provided  we  would  live  within  our- 
selves. Upon  which,  he  expatiated  on  the 
inconveniences  of  trade,  that  carried  from  us 
the  commodities  of  our  countr}',  and  made  a 
parcel  of  upstarts  as  rich  as  men  of  the  most 
ancient  families  of  England.  He  then  de- 
clared frankly,  that  he  had  always  been  against 
all  treaties  and  alliances  with  foreigners : 
"Our  wooden  walls,"  says  he,  ''are  our  se- 
curity, and  we  may  bid  defiance  to  the  whole 
world,  especially  if  tliey  should  attack  us  when 
the  militia  is  out."  I  ventured  to  reply,  that 
I  had  as  great  an  opinion  of  the  English  fleet 
as  he  had  ;  but  I  could  not  see  how  they  could 
be  paid,  and  manned,  and  fitted  out,  unless  we 
encouraged  trade  and  navigation.  He  replied 
with  some  vehemence,  That  he  would  under- 
take to  prove  ti'ade  would  be  the  ruin  of  the 
English  nation.  I  would  fain  have  put  him 
upon  it ;  but  he  contented  himself  with  affinn- 
ing  it  more  eagerly,  to  which  he  added  two  or 
three  curses  upon  the  London  merchants,  not 
forgetting  the  directors  of  the  Bank.  After 
supper  he  asked  me  if  I  was  an  admirer  of 
punch,  and  immediately  called  for  a  sneaker. 
I  took  this  occasion  to  insinuate  the  advan- 
tages of  trade,  by  obsening  to  him,  that  water 
was  the  only  native  of  England  that  could  be 


IIIE   TORY  FOX-HUNTEB.  ir.l 

made  use  of  on  this  occasion ;  but  that  the 
lemons,  the  brand}*,  the  sugar,  and  the  nutmeg 
were  all  foreigners.  This  put  him  into  some 
<?onf  usion :  but  the  landlord  who  overheard 
me,  brought  him  off,  by  affirming,  That  for 
constant  use  there  was  no  liquor  like  a  cup  of 
English  water,  provided  it  had  malt  enough  in 
it.  My  squire  laughed  heartily  at  the  conceit, 
and  made  the  landlord  sit  down  with  us.  We 
sat  pretty  late  over  our  punch ;  and  amidst  a 
great  deal  of  improving  discourse,  drank  the 
healths  of  several  persons  in  the  country,  whom 
I  had  never  heard  of,  that,  they  both  assured 
me,  were  the  ablest  statesmen  in  the  nation ; 
and  of  some  Londoners,  whom  they  extolled 
to  the  skies  for  their  wit,  and  who,  I  knew, 
passed  in  town  for  silly  fellows.  It  being  now 
midnight,  and  my  friend  perceiving  by  his  al- 
manac that  the  moon  wis  up,  he  called  for 
his  horse,  and  took  a  sudden  resolution  to  go 
to  his  house,  which  was  at  three  miles'  dis- 
tance from  the  town,  after  having  bethought 
himself  that  he  never  slept  well  out  of  his  own 
bed.  He  shook  me  very  heartily  by  the  hand 
at  parting,  and  discovered  a  groat  air  of  satis- 
faction in  his  looks,  that  he  had  met  with  an 
opportunity  of  showing  his  parts,  and  left  me 
a  much  wiser  man  than  he  found  me. 

March  5,  1716. 


World.]  No.  33.  [CffKSTBBMBLD. 

A  MODERN  CONVERSATION. 

[Vultis  severi  me  quoqae  snmere 
Partem  Falernl?  ffor.] 

An  old  friend  and  fellow-student  of  mine  at 
the  university  called  upon  me  the  other  morn- 
ing and  found  me  reading  Plato's  Symposiou, 
I  laid  down  my  book  to  receive  him  ;  which, 
after  the  first  usual  compliments,  he  took  up, 
saying,  "  You  will  give  me  leave  to  see  what 
was  the  object  of  your  studies."  —  "Nothing 
less  than  the  divine  Plato,"  said  I.  "  that  ami- 
able philosopher  —  "  "With  whom,"  inter- 
rupted my  friend,  "Cicero  declares  that  he 
would  rather  be  in  the  wrong,  than  in  the  right 
with  any  other."  —  "I  cannot,"  replied  I, 
"carry  my  veneration  for  him  to  that  degree 
of  enthusiasm  ;  but  yet,  wherever  I  understand 
him  (for  I  confess  I  do  not  everywhere),  I 
prefer  him  to  all  the  ancient  philosophers. 
His  Symposion  more  particularly  engages  and 
entertains  me,  as  I  see  there  the  manners  and 
characters  of  the  most  eminent  men,  of  the 
politest  times  of  the  politest  city  of  Greece. 
And,  with  all  due  respect  to  the  moderns,  I 
much  question  whether  an  account  of  a  modern 
Symposion,  though  written  by  the  ablest  hand, 
could  be  read  with  so  much  pleasure  and  im- 
provement."—  "I  do  not  know  that,"  replied 


A  MODERN  CONVEBSATION.  153 

my  friend,  "  for  though  I  revere  the  ancients 
as  much  as  you  possibly  can,  and  look  upon  the 
moderns  as  pygmies  when  compared  to  those 
giants,  yet  if  we  come  up  to,  or  near  them  in 
anything,  it  is  in  the  elegancy  and  delicacy  of 
our  convivial  intercourse." 

I  was  the  more  surprised  at  this  doubt  of  my 
friend's,  because  I  knew  that  he  implicity  sub- 
scribed to,  and  superstitiously  maintained,  all 
the  articles  of  the  classical  faith.  I  therefore 
asked  him  whether  he  was  serious.  He  an- 
swered that  he  was ;  that  in  his  mind,  Plato 
spun  out  that  silly  affair  of  love  too  fine  and 
too  long ;  and  that  if  I  would  but  let  him  in- 
troduce me  to  the  club,  of  which  he  was  an 
unworthy  member,  he  believed  I  should  at 
least  entertain  the  same  doubt,  or  perhaps 
even  decide  in  favor  of  the  moderns.  I 
thanked  my  friend  for  his  kindness,  but  added, 
that  in  whatever  society  he  was  an  unworthy 
inember,  I  should  be  a  still  more  unworthy 
guest.  That  moreover  my  retired  and  domes- 
tic turn  of  life  was  as  inconsistent  with  the 
engagements  of  a  club,  as  my  natural  taci- 
turnity amongst  strangers  would  be  misplaced 
in  the  midst  of  all  that  festal  mirth  and  gay- 
ety.  "  You  mistake  me,"  answered  my  friend, 
"  every  member  of  our  club  has  the  privilege 
of  bringing  one  friend  along  with  him,  who  is 
by  no  means  thereby  to  become  a  member  of 
it ;  and  as  for  your  taciturnity,  we  have  some 
silent  members,  who,  by  the  way,  are  none  of 
our  worst.  Silent  people  never  spoil  com- 
pany ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  by  being  good 


154         A  MODES. y  CONYEBSATION. 

hearers,  encourage  good  speakers."  —  "But  I 
have  another  difficulty,"  answered  I,  "  and 
that  I  doubt  a  very  solid  one  ;  which  is,  that  I 
drink  nothing  but  water"  —  "So  much  the 
worse  for  you,"  replied  my  friend,  who,  by  the 
by,  loves  his  bottle  most  academically,  '••you 
will  pay  for  the  clai'et  you  do  not  drink.  We 
use  no  compulsion  ;  every  (  ne  drinks  as  little 
as  he  pleases."  —  "  Which  I  presume,"  inter- 
rupted I,  "is. as  much  as  he  can."  —  "That 
is  just  as  it  happens,"  said  he  ;  "  sometimes  it 
is  true,  we  make  prettj'  good  sittings  ;  but  for 
ray  own  part,  I  choose  to  go  home  always  be- 
fore eleven  ;  for,  take  my  word  for  it,  it  is  the 
sitting  up  late,  and  not  the  drink,  thiit  destroj'S 
the  constitution."  As  I  found  that  my  friend 
would  have  taken  a  refusal  ill,  I  told  him,  that 
for  this  once  I  would  certainly  attend  him  to 
club ;  but  desired  him  to  give  me  previously 
the  outlines  of  the  characters  of  the  sitting 
members,  that  I  might  know  how  to  behave 
mj'self  properly.  "  Your  precaution,"  said  he, 
"is  a  prudent  one,  and  I  will  make  you  so 
well  acquainted  with  them  beforehand  that  you 
shall  not  seem  :^  f-trauger  when  among  them. 
You  must  know,  then,  that  our  club  consists 
of  at  least  forty  members  when  complete.  Of 
these,  many  are  now  in  the  country  ;  and  be- 
sides, we  have  some  vacancies  which  cannot 
be  filled  up  till  next  winter.  Palsies  and  apo- 
plexies have  of  late,  I  don't  know  why,  been 
pretty  rife  among  us,  and  carried  off  a  good 
many.  It  is  not  above  a  week  ago  that  j)oor 
Tom  Toastwell   fell   on  a  sudden  under  the 


A  MODEBN  COXVERSATIOX.         1.^5 

table,  as  we  thought  only  a  little  in  drink,  but 
he  was  carried  home,  and  never  spoke  more. 
Those  whom  you  will  probably  meet  with  to- 
day are,  first  of  all,  Lord  Feeble,  a  nobleman 
of  admirable  sense,  a  true  fine  gentleman,  and 
for  a  man  of  quality,  a  pretty  classic.  He  has 
lived  rather  fast  formerly,  and  impaired  his 
constitution  by  sitting  up  late,  and  drinking 
your  thin  sharp  wines,  lie  is  still  what  you 
call  nervous,  which  makes  him.  a  little  low- 
spirited'  and  reserved  at  first ;  but  he  grows 
very  affable  and  cheerful  as  soon  as  he  has 
warmed  his  stomach  with  about  a  bottle  of 
good  claret. 

"  Sir  Tunbelly  Guzzle  is  a  very  worthy  north- 
country  baronet,  of  a  good  estate,  and  one  who 
was  beforehand  in  the  world,  till  being  twice 
chosen  knight  of  the  shire,  and  having  in  con- 
sequence got  a  pretty  employment  at  court, 
he  ran  out  considerably.  He  has  left  off 
housekeeping,  and  is  now  upon  a  retrieving 
scheme.  He  is  the  heartiest,  honestest  fellow 
living,  and  though  he  is  a  man  of  very  few 
words,  I  can  assure  you  he  does  not  want 
sense.  He  had  an  university  education,  and 
has  a  good  notion  of  the  classics.  The  poor 
man  is  confined  half  the  year  at  least  with  the 
gout,  and  has  besides  an  inveterate  scurvy, 
which  I  cannot  account  for :  no  man  can  live 
more  regularly ;  he  eats  nothing  but  plain 
meat,  and  very  little  of  that ;  he  drinks  no 
thin  wines  ;  and  never  sits  up  late,  for  he  has 
his  full  dose  by  eleven. 

''  Colonel  Culverin  is  a  brave  old  experienced 


156         A  MODERN  CONVERSATION. 

officer,  though  but  a  lieutenant-colonel  of  foot. 
Between  3'ou  and  me,  he  has  had  great  injus- 
tice done  him ;  and  is  now  commanded  b}' 
many  who  were  not  born  when  he  came  first 
into  the  army.  He  has  served  in  Ireland, 
Minorca,  and  Gibraltar  ;  and  would  have  been 
in  all  the  late  battles  in  Flanders,  had  the 
regiment  been  ordered  there.  It  is  a  pleasure 
to  hear  him  talk  of  war.  He  is  the  best- 
natured  man  alive,  but  a  little  too  jealous  of 
his  honor,  and  too  apt  to  be  in  a  passion  ;  but 
that  is  soon  over,  and  then  he  is  sorry  for  it. 
I  fear  he  is  dropsical,  which  I  impute  to  his 
drinking  your  Champagnes  and  Burgundies. 
He  got  that  ill  habit  abroad. 

"  8ir  George  Plyant  is  well  born,  has  a  gen- 
teel fortune,  keeps  the  very  best  company-, 
and  is  to  be  sure  one  of  the  best-bred  men 
alive  :  he  is  so  good-natured,  that  lie  seems  to 
have  no  will  of  his  own.  He  will  drink  as 
little  or  as  much  as  you  please,  and  no  matter 
of  what.  He  has  been  a  mighty  man  with  the 
ladies  formerly,  and  loves  the  crack  of  the 
whip  still,  lie  is  our  news-monger  ;  for,  being 
a  member  of  the  privy  chamber,  he  goes  to 
court  every  day,  and  consequently  knows 
pretty  well  what  is  going  forward  there.  Poor 
gentleman !  I  fear  we  shall  not  keep  him 
long,  for  he  seems  far  gone  in  a  consumption, 
though  the  doctors  say  it  is  only  a  ner^'ous 
atrophy. 

"  Will  Sitfast  is  the  best-natured  fellow 
living,  and  an  excellent  companion,  though  he 
seldom  speaks ;  but  he  is  no  flincher,  and  sits 


A  MODERN  CONVERSATION.         167 

every  man's  hand  out  at  the  club.  He  is  a 
very  good, scholar,  and  can  write  very  pretty 
Latin  verses.  I  doubt  he  is  in  a  declining 
wa}- ;  for  a  paralytica!  stroke  has  lately 
twitched  up  one  side  of  his  mouth  so,  that  he 
is  now  obliged  to  take  his  wine  diagonally. 
However,  he  keeps  up  his  spirits  bravely,  and 
never  shams  his  glass. 

"  Doctor  Carbuncle  is  an  honest,  jolly,  merry 
parson,  well  affected  to  the  government,  and 
much  of  a  gentleman.  He  is  the  life  of  our 
club,  instead  of  being  the  least  restraint  upon 
it.  He  is  an  admirable  scholar,  and  I  reall}' 
believe  has  all  Horace  by  heart ;  I  know  he 
has  him  always  in  his  pocket.  His  red  face, 
inflamed  nose,  and  swelled  legs  make  him 
generall}'  thought  a  hard  drinker  by  those  who 
do  not  know  him ;  but  I  must  do  him  the 
justice  to  say,  that  I  never  saw  him  disguised 
with  liquor  in  my  life.  It  is  true,  he  is  a  very 
large  man,  and  can  hold  a  great  deal,  which 
makes  the  colonel  call  him,  pleasantly  enough, 
a  vessel  of  election. 

"  The  last  and  least,"  concluded  my  friend, 
"  is  your  humble  sei*vant,  such  as  lam;  and 
if  you  please,  we  will  go  and  walk  in  the 
park  till  dinner  time."  I  agreed,  and  we  set 
out  togetlier.  But  here  the  reader  will  per- 
haps expect  that  I  should  let  him  walk  on  a 
little,  while  I  give  his  character.  We  were  of 
the  same  year  of  St.  John's  College  in  Cam- 
bridge :  he  was  a  younger  brother  of  a  good 
family,  was  bred  to  the  church,  and  had  just 
got  a  fellowship  in  the  college,  when,  his  elder 


158         A  MODEBX  CONVERSATION. 

brother  dj'ing,  he  succeeded  to  an  easy  fortune, 
and  resolved  to  make  himself  easy  with  it, 
that  is,  to  do  nothing.  As  he  had  resided 
long  in  college,  he  had  contracted  all  the 
habits,  prejudices,  the  laziness,  the  soaking, 
the  pride,  and  the  pedantr3'  of  the  cloister, 
which  after  a  certain  time  are  never  to  be 
rubbed  ofif.  He  considered  the  critical  knowl- 
edge of  the  Greek  and  Latin  words,  as  the 
utmost  efifoii;  of  the  human  understanding, 
and  a  glass  of  good  wine  in  good  company,  r.s 
the  highest  pitch  of  human  felicity.  Accord- 
ingly, he  passes  his  mornings  in  reading  the 
classics,  most  of  which  he  has  long  had  by 
heart ;  and  his  evenings  in  drinking  his  glass 
of  good  wine,  which  by  frequent  filling, 
amounts  at  least  to  two,  and  often  to  three 
bottles  a  day.  I  must  not  omit  mentioning 
that  my  friend  is  tormented  with  the  stone, 
which  misfortune  he  imputes  to  having  once 
drank  water  for  a  month,  by  the  prescription 
of  the  late  Doctor  Cheyne,  and  by  no  means  to 
at  least  two  quarts  of  claret  a  day,  for  these 
last  thirty  years.  To  return  to  my  friend  — 
"  1  am  very  much  mistaken,"  said  he,  as  we 
were  walking  in  the  park,  "if  you  do  not 
thank  me  for  procuring  this  day's  entertain- 
ment :  for  a  set  of  worthier  gentlemen  to  be 
sure  never  lived."  —  "I  make  no  doubt  of  it," 
said  I,  "  and  am  therefore  the  more  concerned 
M  hen  I  reflect,  that  this  club  of  worthy  gentle- 
men might,  b^'  your  own  account,  be  not  im- 
properly called  an  hospital  of  incurables,  as 
there  is  not  one  amongf   them  who   does   not 


A  MODERN  C0NVEB8ATI0N.  159 

labor  under  some  chronical  and  mortal  dis- 
temper."—  "  I  see  what  you  would  be  at," 
answered  my  friend;  "you  would  insinuate 
that  it  is  all  owing  to  wine  ;  but  let  me  assui-e 
you,  Mr.  Fitz-Adam,  that  wine^  especially 
claret,  if  neat  and  good,  can  hurt  no  tnan."  I 
did  not  reply  to  this  aphorism  of  ray  friend's, 
whicli  I  know  would  draw  on  too  long  a  dis- 
cussion, especially  as  we  were  just  going  into 
the  club-room,  where  I  took  it  for  granted, 
that  it  was  one  of  the  great  constitutional 
principles.  The  account  of  this  modern  83'm- 
posion  shall  be  the  subject  of  my  next  paper. 

Sept.  19, 1754. 


WoBLD.]  N'o.  Q4L.  [Chestebfikld. 

A  MODEEN  CONVERSATION.    {Continued.) 

[Implentur  veteris  Baccbi.     Virg.'] 

Mt  friend  presented  me  to  the  company,  in 
what  he  thought  the  most  obliging  manner ; 
but  which  I  confess  put  me  a  little  out  of 
countenance.  "Give  me  leave,  gentlemen," 
said  he,  "to  present  to  you  my  old  friend, 
Mr.  Fitz-Adam,  the  ingenious  author  of  the 
World."  The  word  Author  instantly  excited 
the  attention  of  the  whole  company,  and  drew 
all  their  eyes  upon  me  :  for  people  who  are  not 
apt  to  w^ite  themselves  have  a  strange  curios- 
ity to  seo  a  Live  Author.  The  gentlemen  re- 
ceived me  in  common  with  those  gestures  that 
intimate  welcome  ;  and  I  on  my  part  resi)ect- 
fully  muttered  some  of  those  nothings,  which 
stand  instead  of  the  something  one  should  say, 
and  perhnps  do  full  as  well. 

The  weather  being  hot,  the  gentlemen  were 
refreshing  themselves  before  dinner  with  what 
they  called  a  cool  tankard  ;  in  which  they  suc- 
cessively drank  to  Me.  When  it  came  to  my 
turn,  I  thought  I  could  not  decently  decline 
drinking  the  gentlemen's  healths,  which  I  did 
aggregately;  but  how  was  I  surprised,  when, 
upon  the  first  taste,  I  discovered  that  this 
tooling  and  refreshing  draught  was  composed 


A  MODEB^  CONVEBSATION.         161 

of  the  strongest  Mountain  wine,  lowered  in- 
deed with  a  very  little  lemon  and  water,  but 
then  heightened  again  by  a  quantity  of  those 
comfortable  aromatics,  nutmeg  and  ginger ! 
Dinner,  which  had  been  called  for  more  than 
once  with  some  impatience,  was  at  last  brought 
up,  upon  the  colonel's  threatening  perdition  to 
the  master  and  all  the  waiters  of  the  house,  if 
it  was  delayed  two  minutes  longer.  "We  sat 
down  without  ceremony ;  and  we  were  no 
sooner  sat  down,  than  everybody  (except  my- 
self) di-unk  everybody's  health,  which  made  a 
tumultuous  kind  of  noise.  I  observed,  with 
surprise,  that  the  common  quantity  of  wine 
was  put  into  glasses  of  an  immense  size  and 
weight ;  but  my  surprise  ceased,  when  I  saw 
the  tremulous  hands  that  took  them,  and  for 
which  I  supposed  they  were  intended  as  bal- 
last. But  even  this  precaution  did  not  pro- 
tect the  nose  of  Dr.  Carbuncle  from  a  severe 
shock,  in  his  attempt  to  hit  his  mouth.  The 
colonel,  who  observed  this  accident,  cried  out 
pleasantly,  "  Why,  Doctor,  I  find  you  are 
but  a  bad  engiucer.  While  you  aim  at  your 
mouth,  you  will  never  hit  it,  take  my  word  for 
it.  A  floating  battery,  to  hit  the  mark,  must 
be  pointed  something  above,  or  below  it.  If 
you  would  hit  3'our  mouth,  direct  your  four- 
pounder  at  your  forehead,  or  your  chin."  The 
doctor  good-humoredly  thanked  the  colonel  for 
the  hint,  and  promised  him  to  communicate  it 
to  his  frieuds  at  Oxford,  where  he  owned  that 
he  had  seen  many  a  good  glass  of  Port  spilt 
for  want  of  it.  Sii'  Tunbelly  almost  smiled, 
11 


162         A  MODEBN  C0NVEB8ATI0N. 

Sir  George  laughed,  and  the  whole  company, 
somehow  or  other,  applauded  this  elegant 
piece  of  raillery.  But,  alas  !  things  soon  took 
a  less  pleasant  turn  ;  for  an  enormous  buttock 
of  boiled  salt  beef,  which  had  succeeded  the 
soup,  proved  not  to  be  sufficiently  corned  for 
Sir  Tunbelly,  who  had  bespoke  it ;  and.  at  the 
same  time.  Lord  Feeble  took  a  dislike  to  the 
claret,  which  he  affirmed  not  to  be  the  same 
which  they  had  drank  the  day  before  ;  it  had 
no  silkiness^  went  rough  off  the  tongue.,  and  his 
lordship  shi-ewdly  susijected  that  it  was  mixed 
with  Benecarlo,  or  some  of  those  black  wines. 
This  was  a  common  cause,  and  excited  univer- 
sal attention.  The  whole  company  tasted  it 
seriously,  and  everyone  found  a  different  fault 
with  it.  The  master  of  the  house  was  imme- 
diately sent  for  up,  examined,  and  treated  as 
a  criminal.  Sir  Tunbelly  reproached  him  witli 
freshness  of  the  beef,  while,  at  the  same  time, 
all  the  others  fell  upon  him  for  the  badness  of 
his  wine,  telling  him,  that  it  was  not  fit  usage 
for  such  good  customers  as  they  were  ;  and,  in 
fine,  threatening  him  with  a  migration  of  the 
club  to  some  other  house.  The  criminal  laid 
the  blame  of  the  beef's  not  being  corned 
enough  upon  his  cook,  whom  he  promised  to 
turn  away ;  and  attested  heaven  and  earth 
that  the  wine  was  the  very  same  which  they 
had  all  approved  of  the  day  before  ;  Jind,  as 
he  had  a  soul  to  be  saved,  was  true  Chateau 
Margaux —  ''  Chateau  devil,"  said  the  colonel 
with  warmth,  "  it  is  your  rough  Chaos  wine." 
Will  Sitfast,  who  thought  himself  obliged  to 


A  MODEBN  CONVERSATION.         163 

articulate  upon  this  occasion,  said,  He  was 
not  sure  it  was  a  mixed  wine,  but  that  in- 
deed it  drank  down.  —  "  If  that  is  all,"  inter- 
rupted the  doctor,  "let  us  e'en  drink  it  up 
then.  Or,  if  that  won't  do,  since  we  can- 
not have  the  true  Falernum,  let  us  take  up 
or  once  with  the  vile  Sabinum.  "What  say 
you,  gentlemen,  to  good  honest  Fort,  which  I 
am  convinced  is  a  much  wholesomer  stomach 
wine?"  My  friend,  who  in  his  heart  loves 
Port  better  than  any  other  wine  in  the  world, 
willingly  seconded  the  doctor's  motion,  and 
spoke  very  favorably  of  your  Portingal  wines 
in  general,  if  neat.  Upon  this  some  was  im- 
mediately brought  up,  which  I  observed  my 
friend  and  the  doctor  stuck  to  the  whole  even- 
ing. I  could  not  help  asking  the  doctor  if  he 
re  illy  preferred  P  a-t  to  lighter  wines.  To 
which  he  answered,  "You  know,  Mr.  Fitz- 
Adam,  that  use  is  second  nature  ;  and  Fort  is, 
in  a  manner,  mother's  milk  to  me ;  for  it  is 
what  my  Alma  Mater  suckles  all  her  numerous 
progeny  with."  I  silently  assented  to  the  doc- 
tor's account,  which  I  was  convinced  was  a 
ti'ue  one,  and  then  attended  to  the  judicious 
animadversions  of  the  other  gentlemen  upon 
the  claret,  which  were  still  continued,  though 
at  the  same  time  they  continued  to  drink  it.  I 
hinted  my  surprise  at  this  to  Sir  Tunbelly,  who 
gravely  answered  me,  and  in  a  moving  way, 
''Why,  what  can  we  do?"— "Not  drink  it," 
replied  I,  "  since  it  is  not  good." —  "  But  what 
will  you  have  us  do  ?  And  how  shall  we  pass 
the  evening?"  rejoined  the  baronet.      "One 


164         A  MODERN  CONVEJiSATIOX. 

cannot  go  home  at  five  o'clock."  —  "  That  de- 
pends upon  a  great  deal  of  use,"  said  I.  "It 
may  be  so,  to  a  certain  degree,"  said  the 
doctor.  '"But  give  me  leave  lo  ask  you,  Mr. 
Fitz- Adam,  you,  who  drink  nothing  but  water, 
and  live  much  at  home,  how  do  you  keep  up 
your  spirits?" —  "  Why,  Doctor,"  said  I,  '•  as- 
I  never  lowered  my  spirits  by  strong  liquor,  I  do 
not  want  to  raise  them."  Here  we  were  in- 
iuterruptcd  by  the  colonel's  raising  his  voice 
and  indignation  against  the  Burgundy  and 
Champagne ;  swearing  that  the  former  was 
ropy,  and  the  latter  upon  the  fret,  and  not 
without  some  suspicion  of  cider  and  sugar- 
candy  ;  notwithstanding  which,  he  drank,  in  a 
bumper  of  it,  confusion  to  the  town  of  Bristol 
{ind  the  Bottle  Act.  It  was  a  shame,  he  said, 
th:>t  gentlemen  could  have  no  good  Burgun- 
dies and  Champagnes,  for  the  sake  of  some 
increase  of  the  revenue,  the  manufacture  of 
glass  bottles,  and  such  sort  of  stuff.  Sir 
George  confirmed  the  same,  adding,  that  it 
was  sea  dalous;  and  the  whole  company 
agreed,  that  the  new  parliament  would  cer- 
tainly repeal  so  absurd  an  act  the  very  first 
session ;  but  if  they  did  not,  they  hoped  they 
would  receive  instructions  lo  that  purpose  from 
their  constituents.  '-To  be  sure,"  said  the 
colonel,  "  what  a  rout  tliey  made  about  the 
repeal  of  the  Jew  Bill,  for  which  nobod}'  cared 
one  farthing!  But,  by  the  way,"  continued 
he,  "  I  think  everybody  his  done  eating,  jtud 
therefore  had  not  we  better  liave  the  dinner 
taken  away,  and  the  wine  set  upon  the  table?" 


A  MODERN  COyVERSATIOX.         165 

To  this  the  company  gave  an  unanimous 
"Aye!  "  While  this  was  doing,  I  asked  my 
friend,  with  seeming  seriousness,  whether  no 
part  of  the  dinner  was  to  be  served  up  regain, 
when  the  wine  should  be  sej;  upon  the  t-.ible. 
He  seemed  surprised  at  my  question,  and 
asked  me  if  I  was  hungry.  To  which  I  an- 
swered, "  No  "  ;  but  asked  him,  in  my  turn, 
if  he  was  dry.  To  which  he  also  answered, 
"  No."  —  "  Then,  pray,"  replied  I,  '•  why  not 
as  well  eat  without  being  hungry,  as  drink 
without  being  dry?"  M}'  friend  was  so 
stunned  with  this,  that  he  attempted  no  reply, 
but  stared  at  me  with  as  much  astonishment 
as  he  would  have  done  at  my  groat  ancestor 
Adam  in  his  primitive  state  of  nature. 

The  cloth  was  now  taken  away,  and  the 
bottles,  glasses,  and  dish-clouts  put  upon  the 
table ;  when  Will  Sitfast,  who  I  found  was  a 
perpetual  to  ist-maker,  toolc  the  chair,  of 
course,  as  the  man  of  application  to  business. 
He  began  the  king's  health  in  a  bumper,  which 
circulated  in  the  same  manner,  not  wiihout 
some  nice  examinations  of  the  chairman  as. to 
day-light.  The  bottfe  standing  by  me,  1  was 
called  upon  by  the  chairman  ;  who  added,  that 
though  a  water-drinker,  he  hoped  I  wou'd  not 
refuse  that  health  in  wine.  I  begged  to  be 
excused,  and  told  him,  that  I  never  drank  his 
Majesty's  health  at  all,  though  no  one  of  his 
subjects  wished  it  more  heartily  than  I  did. 
-That  hitherto  it  had  not  appeared  to  me,  that 
there  could  be  the  least  relation  between  the 
wine  I  drank  and  the  king's  state  of  health ; 


1G6         A   MODEBN  CONVERSATIOX. 

and  that,  till  I  was  convinced  that  impairing 
my  own  health  would  improve  his  Majesty's, 
I  was  resolved  to  preserve  the  use  of  my 
faculties  and  my  limbs,- to  employ  both  in  his 
service,  if  he  could  ever  have  occasion  for 
them.  I  had  foreseen  the  consequences  of  this 
refusal ;  and  though  my  friend  had  answered 
for  my  principles,  I  easily  discovered  an  air  of 
suspicion  in  the  countenmces  of  t!ie  company  ; 
and  I  overhead  the  colonel  whisper  to  Lord 
Feeb'e,  "  This  author  is  a  very  old  dog." 

My  friend  was  ashamed  of  me ;  but,  how- 
ever, to  help  me  off  as  well  as  he  could,  he  said 
to  me  aloud,  "  Mr.  Fitz-Adam,  this  is  one 
of  those  singularities  which  j'ou  have  con- 
tracted by  living  so  much  alone."  From  this 
moment  the  company  gave  me  up  to  my  <dd- 
nesses,  and  took  no  further  notice  of  me.  I 
leaned  silently  upon  the  table,  waiting  for 
(though,  to  say  the  truth,  without  expei  ting) 
some  of  that  festal  gayety,  that  urbanity,  and 
that  elegant  mirth,  of  which  my  friend  h.  d 
promised  so  large  a  share.  Instead  of  all 
which,  the  conversation  ran  chiefly  into  narra- 
tive, and  grew  duller  and  duller  with  every 
bottle.  Lord  Feeble  recounted  his  former 
achievements  in  love  and  wine ;  the  colonel 
complained,  though  with  dignity,  of  hardships 
and  injustice  ;  Sir  George  hinted  at  some  im- 
portant discoveries  which  he  had  made  that 
day  at  court,  but  cautiously  avoided  naming 
names ;  Sir  Tunbelly  slept  between  glass  and 
glass  ;  the  doctor  and  my  friend  talked  over 
college  matters,  and  quoted  Latin ;  and  our 


A  MODERN  CONVERSATION.  167 

worthy  president  applied  himself  wholly  to 
business,  never  speaking  but  to  order ;  as, 
"Sir,  the  bottle  stands  with  you  —  Sir,  you 
are  to  name  a  toast — ^That  has  been  drank 
already  —  Here,  more  claret!"  etc.  In  the 
height  of  all  this  convivial  pleasantry,  which 
I  plainly  saw  was  come  to  its  zenith,  I  stole 
away  at  about  nine  o'clock,  and  went  home ; 
where  reflections  upon  the  entertainment  of 
the  day  crowded  into  my  mind,  and  may  per- 
haps be  the  subject  of  some  future  paper. 

Sbpt.  26, 1754. 


-No.,  S5. 

CONNOISSXUB.]  [COLMAN  AND  ThoBNTOH. 

TEE  SQUIRE  IN  OEDERS. 

Gaudet  eqnis  canibusqne,  et  aprici  grarnine  campi.    Hbr. 

My  Cousin  Village,  from  whom  I  had  not 
heard  for  some  time,  has  lately  sent  me  an  ac- 
count of  a  Country  Parson,  which  I  dare  say 
will  prove  entertaining  to  my  town  reid'  rs, 
who  can  have  no  other  idea  of  our  clergy  th:in 
what  they  have  collected  from  the  spruce  and 
genteel  figures  which  they  have  been  used  to 
contemplate  here  in  doctors'  scarfs,  pudding- 
sleeves,  starched  bands,  and  feather-iop  griz- 
zles. It  will  be  found  from  my  cousin's  de- 
scription, that  these  reverend  ensigns  of  ortho- 
doxy are  not  so  necessary  to  be  displayed 
among  the  rustics  ;  and  that,  when  they  are 
out  of  the  pulpit  or  surplice,  the  good  pastors 
may,  without  censure,  put  on  the  manners  as 
well  as  dress  of  a  groom  or  whipper-in. 

DoNC ASTER,  Jan.  14,  1756. 
Dear  Cousin,  — I  am  just  arrived  here,  after 
having  paid  a  visit  to  our  old  acquaintance 
Jack  Quickset,  who  is  now  become  the  Rever- 
end Mr.  Quickset,  rector  of parish  in  the 

North-Riding  of  this  county,  a  living  Morth  up- 
wards of  three  hundred  pounds  per  ann.  As 
the  ceremonies  of  ordination  have  occasioned 


THE  SqUIBE  IN  OBDEBS.  169 

no  alteration  in  Jack's  morals  or  behavior,  the 
figure  he  makes  in  the  church  is  somewhat  re- 
markable :  but  as  there  are  many  other  incum- 
bents of  countiy  livings,  whose  clerical  charac- 
ters will  be  found  to  tally  with  his,  perhaps  a 
slight  sketch,  or,  as  I  may  say,  rough  draught 
of  him,  with  some  account  of  my  visit,  will  not 
be  uneutertaining  to  your  readers. 

Jack,  hearing  that  I  was  in  this  part  of  the 
world,  sent  me  u  very  hearty  letter,  inform- 
ing me  that  he  had  bi^en  double  japanned  (as 
he  called  it)  about  a  year  ago,  and  was  the 

present  incumbent  of ,  where,  if  I  would 

favor  him  with  ray  company,  he  would  give 
me  a  cup  of  the  best  Yorkshire  Stingo,  and 
wou^d  engage  to  shew  me  a  noble  day's  sport, 
as  he  was  in  a  fine  open  country  with  plenty  of 
foxes.  I  rejoiced  to  hear  he  was  so  comfort- 
ably settled,  and  set  out  immediately  for  his 
living  When  I  arrived  within  the  gate,  my 
ears  were  alarmed  with  such  a  loud  chorus  of 
"  No  mortals  on  earth  are  so  jovial  as  we," 
that  I  began  to  think  I  had  made  a  mis- 
take ;  but  its  close  neighborhood  to  the  church 
soon  convinced  me  that  this  could  be  no  other 
than  the  parsonage-house.  On  my  entrance, 
my  friend  (whom  I  found  in  the  midst  of  a 
full  room  of  fox-hunters  in  boots  and  bob- 
wigs)  got  up  to  welcoue  me  to ,  and  era- 
bracing  me,  gave  rae  the  full  favor  of  his 
Stingo  by  breathing  ia  ray  face,  as  he  did  me 
the  honor  of  saluting  me.  He  then  introduced 
me  to  his  friends  ;  and  placing  rae  at  the  right 
hand  of  his  own  elbow  chair,  assured  them 


170  THE  SQUIRE  /iV  OEDERS. 

that  I  was  a  very  honest  Cock,  and  loved  a 
chase  of  five-and-twenty  miles  on  eud  as 
well  as  any  of  them  :  to  preserve  the  credit 
of  which  character,  I  was  obliged  to  comply 
with  an  injunction  to  toss  off  a  pint  bumper 
of  Port,  with  the  foot  of  the  fox  dipped  and 
squeezed  into  it  to  give  a  zest  to  the  Jiquor. 

The  whole  economy  of  Jack's  life  is  very 
different  from  that  of  his  brethren.  Instead 
of  having  a  wife  and  a  house  full  of  children 
(the  most  common  family  of  a  country  cler- 
gyman) ,  he  is  single  ;  unless  we  credit  some 
idle  whispers  in  the  parish  that  he  is  married 
to  his  housekeeper.  The  calm  amusements 
of  piquet,  chess,  and  backgammon  have  no 
charms  for  Jack,  who  "  sees  his  dearest  action 
in  the  field,"  and  boasts  that  he  has  a  brace  of 
as  good  hunters  ia  his  stable  as  ever  leg  was 
laid  over.  Hunting  and  shooting  are  the  only 
business  of  his  life ;  fox-hounds  and  pointers 
lay  about  in  every  parlor ;  and  he  is  himself, 
like  Pistol,  always  in  boots.  The  estimation 
in  which  he  holds  his  friends  is  rated  accord- 
ing to  their  excellence  as  sportsmen  ;  and  to 
be  able  to  make  a  good  shot,  or  hunt  a  pack 
of  hounds  well,  are  most  recommending  qual- 
ities. His  parishioners  often  earn  a  shilling 
and  a  cup  of  ale  at  his  house,  by  coming  to 
acquaint  him  that  they  have  found  a  hare  sit- 
ting, or  a  fox  in  cover.  One  day,  when  I  was 
alone  with  my  friend,  the  servant  came  in  to 
tell  him  that  the  clerk  wanted  to  speak  with 
him.  He  was  ordered  in  ;  but  I  could  not 
help  smiling,  when  (instead  of  giving  notice 


TEE  SqUIBE  m  OliDEBS.  171 

of  a  burying,  christening,  or  some  other  church 
business,  as  I  expected)  I  found  the  honest 
clerk  came  only  to  acquaint  his  reverend  supe- 
rior that  there  was  a  covey  of  partridges,  of  a 
dozen  brace  at  least,  not  above  three  fields 
from  the  house. 

Jack's  elder  brother,  Sir  Thomas  Quickset, 
who  gave  him  the  benefice,  is  lord  of  the 
ra  inor ;  so  that  Jack  has  full  power  to  beat  up 
the  game  unmolested.  He  goes  out  three  times 
a-week  with  his  brother's  hounds,  whether  Sir 
Thomas  hunts  or  not ;  and  has  besides  a  depu- 
tation from  him  as  lord  of  the  manor,  consign- 
ing the  game  to  his  care,  and  empowering  him 
to  take  away  a,l  guns,  nets,  and  dogs,  from 
persons  not  duly  qualifi.  d.  Jack  is  more  proud 
of  his  office,  than  many  other  country  clergy- 
men are  of  being  in  ihe  commission  of  the 
peace.  Poaching  is,  in  his  eye,  the  most  hei- 
nous ciiine  ill  the  two  tables;  nor  does  the 
care  of  souls  appear  to  him  half  so  important 
a  duty  as  the  preservation  of  the  game. 

Sunday,  you  may  suppose,  is  as  dull  and 
tedious  to  this  ordained  sportsman  as  to  any 
fine  la Jy  in  town  :  not  that  he  makes  the  duties 
of  his  function  any  fatigue  to  him,  but  as  this 
day  is  necessarily  a  day  of  rest  from  the 
usual  toils  of  shooting  and  the  chase.  It  hap- 
pened that  the  first  Sunday  after  I  was  with 
him,  he  had  engaged  to  take  care  of  a  church, 
which  was  about  twenty  miles  off,  in  the 
absence  of  a  neighboring  clergyman.  He 
asked  me  to  accompany  him  ;  and  the  more  to 
encourage  me,  he  assured  me  that  we  should 


172  THE  SQVIBE  IN  OBDEBS. 

ride  over  as  fine  a  champaign  open  country  as 
any  in  the  North.  Accordingly  I  was  roused 
by  him  in  the  morning  before  daybreak,  by  a 
loud  hallooing  of  "  Hark  to  Merriman  ! "  and 
the  repeated  smacks  of  his  half -hunter ;  and 
after  we  had  fortified  our  stomachs  with  sev- 
eral slices  of  hung  beef,  and  a  horn  or  two  of 
Stingo,  we  sallied  forth.  Jack  was  mounted 
upon  a  hunter  which  he  assured  me  was  never 
yet  thrown  out:  and  as  we  rode  along,  he 
could  not  help  lamenting  that  so  fine  a  soft 
morning  should  be  thrown  away  upon  a  Sun- 
day ;  at.  the  same  time  remarking  that  the  dogs 
might  run  breast  high. 

Though  we  made  the  best  of  our  way  over 
hedge  and  ditch,  and  took  everything,  we  were 
often  delayed  by  trying  if  we  could  prick  a 
hare,  or  by  leaving  the  road  to  examine  a 
piece  of  cover ;  and  he  frequently  made  me 
stop  while  he  pointed  out  the  particular  course 
that  Reynarh  took,  or  the  spot  where  he  had 
earth'd.  At  length  we  arrived  on  full  g  illop 
at  the  church,  whore  we  found  the  congrega- 
tion waiing  for  us  ;  but  as  Jack  had  nothing 
to  do  but  to  alight,  pull  his  band  out  of  the 
sermon-case,  give  his  brown  scratch  bob  a 
shake,  and  clap  on  the  surplice,  he  was  pres- 
ently equipp.  d  for  the  service.  In  short,  he 
behaved  himself,  both  in  the  desk  and  pulpit, 
to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  all  the  parish,  as 
well  as  the  squire  of  it,  who,  after  thanking 
Jack  for  his  exce-llcnt  discourse,  very  cordially 
took  us  home  to  diriner  with  him. 

I  shall  not  trouble  you  with  an  account  of 


THE  SQUIRE  IX  OBDEBS.  173 

our  entertainment  at  the  squire's  ;  who,  being 
himself  as  keen  a  sportsman  as  ever  followed 
a  pack  of  doj;8,  was  hugely  delighted  with 
Jack's  conversation.  "  Church  and  King," 
and  another  particular  toast  (in  compliment, 
I  suppose,  to  my  friend's  clerical  character), 
were  the  first  drank  after  dinner ;  but  these 
were  directly  followed  by  a  pint  bumper  to 
"Horses  sound.  Dogs  healthy,  Earths  stopt, 
and  Foxes  plenty."  AVhen  we  had  run  over 
again,  with  great  joy  and  vociferation,  as  many 
chases  as  the  time  would  permit,  the  bell  called 
us  to  evening  prayers ;  after  which,  though 
the  squire  would  fain  have  had  us  stay  and 
take  a  hunt  with  him,  we  mounted  our  horses 
at  the  church  door,  and  rode  home  in  the  dark  ; 
because  Jack  had  engaged  to  meet  several  of 
his  brother  sportsmen,  who  were  to  lie  all 
night  at  his  own  house,  to  be  in  readiness  to 
make  up  for  the  loss  of  Sunday,  by  going  out 
a-cock-shooting  very  early  the  next  morning. 

I  must  leave  it  to  you,  Cousin,  to  make  what 
reflections  30U  please  on  this  character :  only 
observing,  that  the  country  can  furnish  many 
instances  of  these  ordained  sportsmen,  whose 
thoughts  are  more  taken  up  with  the  stable  or 
the  dog-kennel  than  the  church ;  and  indeed, 
it  will  be  found  that  our  friend  Jack  and  all 
of  his  stamp  are  regarded  by  their  parishion- 
ers, not  as  Parsons  of  the  Parish,  but  rather 
as  Squkes  in  Orders. 

I  am,  dear  Cousin,  yours,  etc. 

Jan.  29, 1756. 


CONNOISSKDB.]  N^O.     26.  [COWPKB. 

COUNTEY  CONGREGATIONS. 

Delicta  majorum  immeritus  lues, 

Komane,  donee  templa  refecerls 

JEdesquc  labentes  deorum,  et 

Foeda  nigro  simulacra  f  umo.    Hor. 

Dear  Cousin,  —  The  country  at  present,  no 
less  than  the  metropolis,  abounding  with  politi- 
cians of  every  kind,  I  begun  to  despair  of  pick- 
ing up  any  intelligence  that  might  possibly  be 
entertaiuing  to  your  readers.  However,  I 
have  lately  visited  some  of  the  most  distant 
parts  of  the  kingdom  with  a  clergyman  of  my 
acquaintance  :  1  shall  not  trouble  you  with  an 
account  of  the  improvements  that  have  been 
made  in  the  seats  we  saw  according  to  the 
modern  toste,  but  proceed  to  give  you  some 
reflections,  which  occurred  to  us  on  observing 
several  country  churches,  and  the  behavior  of 
the  congregations. 

The  ruinous  condition  of  some  of  these 
edifices  gave  me  great  offence  ;  and  I  could 
not  help  wishing,  that  the  honest  vicar, 
instead  of  indulging  his  genius  for  improve- 
ments, by  inclosing  his  gooseberry-bushes 
within  a  Chinese  rail,  and  converting  half  an 
acre  of  his  glebe-land  into  a  bowling-green, 
would  have  applied  part  of  his  income  to  the 
more  laudable  purpose  of  sheltering  his  parish- 


COUNTRY  CONGREGATIONS.  175 

ioners  from  the  weather,  during  their  attend- 
ance on  divine  service.  It  is  no  uncommon 
thing  to  see  the  parsonage-house  well  thatched, 
and  in  exceeding  gO(  d  repair,  while  the  church 
perhaps  has  scarce  any  other  roof  than  the  ivy 
th  it  grows  over  it.  The  noise  of  owls,  bats, 
and  magpies  makes  the  principal  part  of  the 
church-music  in  many  of  these  ancient  edifices  ; 
and  the  walls,  like  a  large  map,  seem  to  be 
portioned  out  into  capes,  seas,  and  promon- 
tories, by  the  various  colors  by  which  the 
damps  have  stained  them.  Sometimes,  the 
foundation  bein^  too  weak  to  support  the 
steeple  any  longer,  it  has  been  expedient  to  pull 
down  that  part  of  the  building,  and  to  hang 
the  bells  under  a  wooden  shed  on  the  ground 
beside  it.  This  is  the  case  in  a  parish  in 
Norfolk,  through  which  I  lately  passed,  and 
where  the  clerk  and  the  sexton,  like  the  two 
figures  at  St.  Dunstan's,  serve  the  bells  in 
capacity  of  clappers,  by  striking  them  alter- 
nately with  a  hammerr 

In  other  churches  I  have  observed,  that 
nothing  unseemly  or  ruinous  is  to  be  found, 
except  in  the  clergyman,  and  the  appendages 
of  his  person.  The  squire  of  the  parish,  or 
his  ancestors,  perhaps,  to  testily  their  devo- 
tion, and  leave  a  lasting  monument  of  their 
magnificence,  have  adorned  the  altar-piece 
with  the  richest  crimson  velvet,  embroidered 
with  vine-leaves  and  ears  of  wheat ;  and  have 
dressed  up  the  pulpit  with  the  same  splendor 
and  expense  ;  while  the  gentleman,  who  fills  it, 
is  exalted  in  the  midst  of  all  this  finerv,  with 


176  COUNTRY  COXGREGATIONS. 

a  surplice  as  dirt}-  as  a  farmer's  frock,  and  a 
periwig  that  seems  to  have  transferred  its 
faculty  of  curling  to  the  band  which  appears  in 
full  buckle  beneath  it. 

But  if  I  was  concerned  to  see  several  dis- 
tressed pastors,  as  well  as  many  of  our  coun- 
try churches  in  a  tottering  condition,  I  was 
more  offended  with  the  indecency  of  worship 
in  others.  I  could  wish  that  the  clergy  would 
inform  their  congregations,  that  there  is  no 
occasion  to  scream  themselves  hoarse  in  mak- 
ing the  responses  ;  that  the  town-crier  is  not 
the  only  person  qualified  to  pray  with  due 
devotion  ;  and  that  he  who  bawls  the  loudest 
may,  nevertheless,  be  the  wickedest  fellow  in 
the  parish.  The  old  women  too  in  the  aisle 
might  be  told,  that  their  time  would  be  better 
employed  in  attending  to  the  sermon,  than  in 
fumbling  over  their  tattered  Testaments  till 
they  have  found  the  text ;  by  which  time  the 
discourse  is  near  drawing  to  a  conclusion : 
while  a  word  or  two  of  instruction  might  not 
be  thrown  away  upon  the  younger  part  of  the 
congregation,  to  teach  them  that  making  posies 
in  summer  time,  and  cracking  nuts  in  autumn, 
is  no  part  of  the  religious  ceremony. 

The  good  old  practice  of  psalm-singing  is, 
indeed,  wonderfully  improved  in  many  coun- 
try churches  since  the  days  of  Steruhold  and 
Hopkins  ;  and  there  is  scarce  a  painsh  clerk 
who  has  so  little  taste  as  not  to  pick  his  staves 
out  of  the  New  Version.  This  has  occasioned 
great  complaints  in  some  places,  where  the 
clerk  has  been   foiced    to  bawl  by   himself, 


COUNTS Y  CONGBEGATIONS.         177 

because  the  rest  of  the  congregation  cannot 
find  the  psalm  at  the  end  of  their  prayer- 
books  ;'  while  others  are  highly  disgusted  at 
the  innovation,  and  stick  as  obstinately  to  the 
Old  Version  as  to  the  Old  Style.  The  tunes 
themselves  have  also  been  new-set  to  jiggish 
measures  ;  and  the  sober  di'awl,  which  used  to 
accompany  the  first  two  staves  of  the  hun- 
dredth psalm,  with  the  gloria  patri,  is  now 
split  into  as  many  quavers  as  an  Italian  air. 
For  this  purpose  there  is  in  every  county  an 
itinerant  band  of  vocal  musicians,  who  make 
it  their  business  to  go  round  to  all  the 
churches  in  their  turns,  and,  after  a  prelude 
with  the  pitch-pipe,  astonish  the  audience 
with  hymns  set  to  the  new  Winchester  meas- 
ure, and  anthems  of  their  own  composing.  As 
these  new-fashioned  psalmodists  are  neces- 
sarily made  up  of  young  men  and  maids,  we 
may  naturally  suppose,  that  there  is  a  perfect 
concord  and  symphony  between  them :  and, 
indeed,  I  have  known  it  happen  that  these 
sweet  singers  have  more  than  once  been 
brought  into  disgrace,  by  too  close  an  unison 
between  the  thorough-bass  and  the  treble. 

It  is  a  difficult  matter  to  decide,  which  is 
looked  upon  as  the  greatest  man  in  a  coun- 
try church,  the  parson  or  his  clerk.  The  lat- 
ter is  most  ceitainly  held  in  higher  veneration 
where  the  former  happens  to  be  only  a  |;oor 
curate,  -who  rides  post  every  Sabbath  from 
village  to  village,  and  mounts  or  dismounts 
at  the  church  door.  The  clerk's  office  is  not 
onl}^  to  tag  the  prayers  with  an  Amen,  or 
12 


178  COUXTBY  CONGBEGATIONS. 

usher  iu  the  sermon  with  a  stave ;  but  he  is 
also  the  universal  father  to  give  away  the 
brides,  and  the  standing  god-father  to  all  the 
new-born  bantlings.  But  in  many  places  there 
is  a  still  greater  man  belonging  to  the  church, 
than  either  the  parson  or  the  clerk  himself. 
The  person  I  mean  is  the  Squire ;  who,  like 
the  King,  may  be  styled  Head  of  the  Church 
in  his  own  parish.  If  the  benefice  be  in  his 
own  gift,  the  vicar  is  his  creature,  and  of  con- 
sequence entirely  at  his  devotion  :  or,  if  the 
care  of  the  church  be  left  to  a  curate,  the 
Sunday  fees  of  roast  beef  and  plum  pudding, 
and  a  liberty  to  shoot  in  the  manor,  will  bring 
him  as  much  under  the  Squire's  command  as 
his  dogs  and  horses.  For  this  reason  the  bell 
is  often  kept  tolling,  and  the  people  waiting 
in  the  church-yard  an  hour  longer  than  the 
usual  time  ;  nor  must  the  service  begin  till  the 
Squire  has  strutted  up  the  aisle,  and  seated 
himself  in  the  great  pew  in  the  chancel.  The 
length  of  the  sermon  is  also  measured  by  the 
will  of  the  Squire,  as  formerly  by  the  hour- 
glass :  and  I  know  one  parish  where  the 
preacher  has  always  the  complaisance  to  con- 
clude his  discourse,  however  abruptly,  the 
minute  that  the  Squire  give  the  signal,  by  ris- 
ing up  after  his  nap. 

In  a  village  church,  the  Squire's  lady  or  the 
vicar's  wife  are  perhaps  the  only  females  that 
are  stared  at  for  their  finery  :  but  in  the  larger 
cities  and  towns,  where  the  newest  fashions 
are  brought  down  weekly  by  the  stage-coach 
or  wagon,  all  the  wives  and  daughters  of  the 


COUNTRY  CONGREGATIONS.  179 

most  topping  tradesmen  vie  with  each  other 
every  Sunday  in  the  elegance  of  their  apparel. 
I  could  even  trace  their  gradations  in  tiieir 
dress,  according  to  the  opulence,  the  extent, 
and  the  distance  of  the  place  from  London. 
I  was  at  church  in  a  populous  city  in  the 
North,  where  the  mace-bearer  cleared  the  way 
for  Mrs.  Mayoress,  who  came  sidling  after 
him  in  an  enormous  fan-hoop,  of  a  pattern 
which  had  never  been  seen  before  in  those 
parts.  At  another  church,  in  a  corporation 
town,  I  saw  several  Negligees,  with  furbe- 
lowed  aprons,  which  had  long  disputed  the 
prize  of  superiority  :  but  these  were  most  wo- 
fully  eclipsed  by  a  burgess's  daughter,  just 
come  from  London,  who  appeared  in  a  Trol- 
lope  or  Slammei'kiu,  with  treble  ruffles  to  the 
cuffs,  pinked  and  gimped,  and  the  sides  of  the 
petticoat  drawn  up  in  fistoons.  In  some 
lesser  borough  towns,  the  contest,  I  found, 
lay  between  three  or  four  black  and  green  bibs 
and  aprons  ;  at  one,  a  grocer's  wife  attracted 
our  eyes,  by  a  new-fashioned  cap,  called  a 
Joan  ;  and,  at  another,  they  were  wholly  taken 
up  by  a  mercer's  daughter  in  a  Nun's  Hood. 

I  need  not  say  anything  of  the  behavior  of 
the  congregations  in  these  more  polite  places 
of  religious  resort ;  as  the  same  genteel  cere- 
monies are  practised  there,  as  at  the  most 
fashionable  churches  in  town.  The  ladies, 
immediately  on  their  entrance,  breathe  a  pious 
ejacu'ation  through  their  fan-sticks,  and  the 
beaux  very  gravely  address  themselves  to  the 
Haberdashers'  Bills,  glued  upon  the  linings  of 


180  COUNTRY  CONGBEGATIONS. 

their  hats.  This  pious  duty  is  no  sooner  per- 
formed, than  the  exercise  of  bowing  and  curt- 
sying succeeds  ;  the  locking  and  unlocking  of 
the  pews  drowns  the  reader's  voice  at  the 
beginning  of  the  ser^^ce  ;  and  the  rustling  of 
silks,  added  to  the  whispering  and  tittering  of 
so  much  good  company,  renders  him  totally 
unintelligible  to  the  very  end  of  it. 

I  am,  dear  Cousin,  yours,  etc. 

Aua.  19, 1756. 


Idler.]  "No.  87.  [Johnson. 

DICK  MINIM  THE  CEITIC. 

[Inter-strepit  anser  olores.     Virg.} 

Criticism  is  a  study  by  which  men  grow 
important  and  formidable  at  very  small  ex- 
pense. The  power  of  invention  has  been 
conferred  by  Nature  upon  few,  and  the  labor 
of  learning  those  sciences  which  may,  by  mere 
labor,  be  obtained,  is  too  great  to  be  willingly 
endured  ;  but  every  man  can  exert  such  judg- 
ment as  he  has  upon  the  works  of  others ; 
and  he  whom  Nature  has  made  weak,  and 
Idleness  keeps  ignorant,  may  yet  support  his 
vanity  by  the  name  of  a  Critic. 

I  hope  it  will  give  comfort  to  great  numbers 
who  are  passing  through  the  world  in  obscu- 
rity, when  I  inform  them  how  easily  distinction 
may  be  obtained.  All  the  other  powers  of 
literature  are  coy  and  haughty  ;  they  must  be 
long  courted,  and  at  last  are  not  always 
gained^  but  Criticism  is  a  goddess  easy  of 
access,  and  forward  of  advance,  who  will 
meet  the  slow,  and  encourage  the  timorous ; 
the  want  of  meaning  she  supplies  with  words, 
and  the  want  of  spirit  she  recompenses  with 
malignity. 

This  profession  has  one  recommendation 
peculiar  to  itself,  that  it  gives  vent  to  malig- 


182  DICK  MINIM  THE   CBITIC. 

nity  without  real  mischief.  No  genius  -was 
ever  blasted  by  the  breath  of  critics.  The 
poison  which,  if  coiifiued,  would  have  burst 
the  heart,  fumes  away  in  empty  hisses,  and 
malice  is  set  at  ease  with  very  little  danger  to 
merit.  The  critic  is  the  only  man  whose  tri- 
umph is  without  another's  pain,  and  whose 
greatness  does  not  rise  upon  another's  ruin. 

To  a  study  at  once  so  easy  and  so  reputable, 
so  malicious  and  so  harmless,  it  cannot  be 
necessary  to  invite  my  readers  by  a  long  or 
labored  exhortation ;  it  is  sufficient,  since  all 
would  be  critics  if  they  could,  to  shew  by  one 
eminent  example,  that  all  can  be  critics  if  they 
will. 

Dick  Minim,  after  the  common  course  of 
puerile  studies,  in  which  he  was  no  great  pro- 
ficient, was  put  apprentice  to  a  brewer,  with 
whom  he  had  lived  two  years,  when  his  uncle 
died  in  the  city,  and  left  him  a  large  fortune 
in  the  stocks,  Dick  had  for  six  months  before 
used  the  company  of  the  lower  players,  of 
whom  he  had  learned  to  scorn  a  trade  ;  and 
being  now  at  liberty  to  follow  his  genius,  he 
resolved  to  be  a  man  of  wit  and  humor.  That 
he  might  be  properly  initiated  in  his  new  char- 
acter, he  frequented  the  coffee-houses  nt  ar  the 
theatres,  where  he  listened  very  diligently, 
day  after  day,  to  those  who  talked  of  language 
and  sentiments,  and  unities  and  catastrophes, 
till,  by  slow  degrees,  he  began  to  think  that 
he  understood  something  of  the  stage,  and 
hoped  in  time  to  talk  himself. 

But  he  did  not  trust  so  much  to  natural  sa- 


DICK  MINIM  THE   CRITIC.  183 

gacity,  as  wholty  to  neglect  the  help  of  books. 
Whea  the  theatres  were  shut,  he  retu'ed  to 
Richmond  with  a  few  select  writers,  whose 
opinions  he  impressed  upon  his  memory  by  un- 
wearied diligence  ;  and  when  he  returned  with 
other  wits  to  the  town,  was  able  to  tell  in  very 
proper  phrases,  that  the  chief  business  of  art 
is  to  copy  nature  ;  that  a  perfect  writer  is  not 
to  be  expected,  because  genius  decays  as 
judgment  increases ;  that  the  great  art  is  the 
art  of  blotting ;  and  that,  according  to  the 
rule  of  Horace,  every  piece  should  be  kept 
nine  years. 

Of  the  great  authors  he  now  began  to  dis- 
play the  characters,  laying  down,  as  an  uni- 
versal position,  that  all  had  beauties  and 
defects.  His  opinion  was,  that  Shakespeare, 
committing  himself  wholly  to  the  impulse  of 
nature,  wanted  that  correctness  which  learn- 
ing would  have  given  him  ;  and  that  Jonson, 
trusting  to  learning,  did  not  sufficiently  cast 
his  e^'e  on  nature.  He  blamed  the  Stanza  of 
Spenser,  and  could  not  bear  the  Hexameters 
of  Sidney.  Denham  and  "Waller  he  held  the 
first  reformers  of  English  numbers ;  and 
thought  that  if  Waller  could  have  obtained 
the  strength  of  Denham,  or  Denham  the 
sweetness  of  Waller,  there  had  been  nothing 
wanting  to  complete  a  poet.  He  often  ex- 
pressed his  commiseration  of  Dryden's  pov- 
erty, and  his  indignation  at  the  age  which  suf- 
fered him  to  write  for  bread  ;  he  repeated  with 
rapture  the  first  lines  of  All  for  Love,  but 
wondered  at   the   corruption  of    taste   which 


184  DICK  MINIM  THE   CRITIC- 

could  bear  anything  so  unnatural  as  rhyming 
tragedies.  In  Otway  he  found  uncommon 
powers  of  moving  the  passions,  but  was  dis- 
gusted by  his  general  negligence,  and  blamed 
him  for  making  a  conspirator  his  hero ;  and 
never  concluded  his  disquisition,  •  without  ro- 
marlcing  how  happily  the  sound  of  the  clock 
is  made  to  alarm  the  audience.  Southerne 
would  have  been  his  favorite,  but  that  he 
mixes  comic  with  tragic  scenes,  intercepts  the 
natural  course  of  the  passions,  and  fills  the 
mind  with  a  wild  confusion  of  mirth  and 
melancholy.  .  The  versification  of  Rowe  he 
thought  too  melodious  for  the  stage,  and  too 
little  varied  in  different  passions.  lie  made 
it  the  great  fault  of  Congreve,  that  all  his 
persons  were  wits,  and  that  he  always  wrote 
with  more  art  than  nature.  lie  considered 
Cato  rather  as  a  poem  tlian  a  play,  and  al- 
lowed Addison  to  be  the  complete  master  of 
allegory  and  grave  humor,  but  paid  no  great 
deference  to  him  as  a  critic.  He  thought  the 
chief  merit  of  Prior  was  in  his  easy  tales  and 
lighter  poems,  though  he  allowed  that  his  Sol- 
omon had  many  noble  sentiments  elegantly 
expressed.  In  Swift  he  discovered  an  inimi- 
table vein  of  irony,  and  an  easiness  which  all 
would  hope  and  few  would  attain.  Pope  he 
was  inclined  to  degrade  from  a  poet  to  a  ver- 
sifier, and  thought  his  numbers  rather  luscious 
than  sweet.  He  often  lamented  the  neglect  of 
Phaedra  and  Hippolitus,  and  wished  to  see 
the  stage  under  better  regulations. 

These  assertions  passed  commonly  uncon- 


DICK  MINIM  THE   CRITIC.  185 

tradicted ;  and  if  now  and  then  an  opponent 
started  up,  he  was  quickly  repressed  by  the 
suffrages  of  the  company,  and  Minim  went 
away  from  every  dispute  with  elation  of  heart 
and  increase  of  confidencp. 

He  now  grew  conscious  of  his  abilities,  and 
began  to  talk  of  tiie  present  state  of  di*araatic 
poetry ;  wondered  what  was  become  of  the 
comic  genius  which  supplied  our  ancestors 
with  wit  and  pleasantry,  and  why  no  writer 
could  bo  found  that  durst  now  venture  beyond 
a  farce.  He  saw  no  reason  for  thinking  that 
the  vein  of  humor  was  exhausted,  since  we 
live  in  a  country  where  liberty  suffers  every 
character  to  spread  itself  to  its  utmost  bulk, 
and  which  therefore  produces  more  originals 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  world  together.  Of 
tragedy  he  concluded  business  to  be  the  soul, 
and  yet  often  hinted  that  love  predominates 
too  much  upon  the  modern  stage. 

He  was  now  an  acknowledged  critic,  and 
had  his  own  seat  in  a  coffee-house,  and  headed 
a  party  in  the  pit.  Minim  has  more  vanity 
than  ill-nature,  and  seldom  desires  to  do  much 
mischief ;  he  will  perhaps  murmur  a  little  in 
the  ear  of  him  that  sits  next  him,  but  endeav- 
ors to  influence  the  audience  to  favor,  by  clap- 
ping when  an  actor  exclaims.  Ye  Gods !  or 
laments  the  misery  of  his  country. 

By  degrees  he  was  admitted  to  rehearsals  ; 
and  many  of  his  friends  are  of  opinion,  that 
our  present  poets  are  indebted  to  him  for  their 
happiest  thoughts  ;  by  his  contrivance  the  bell 
was  rung   twice   in   Barbarossa ;  and   by  his 


186  DICK  MINIM  THE   CRITIC. 

persuasion  the  author  of  Cleone  conchided  his 
play  without  a  couplet ;  for  what  can  be  more 
absurd,  said  Minim,  than*  that  part  of  a  play 
should  be  rhymed,  and  part  written  in  blank 
verse?  and  by  what  acquisition  of  faculties  is 
the  speaker,  who  never  could  find  rhymes 
before,  enabled  to  rhyme  at  the  conclusion  of 
an  act? 

He  is  the  great  investigator  of  hidden 
beauties,  and  is  particularly  delighted  when 
he  finds  the  sound  an  echo  to  the  sense.  He 
has  read  all  our  poets  with  particular  atten- 
tion to  this  delicacy  of  versification,  and  won- 
ders at  the  supineness  with  which  their  works 
have  been  hitherto  perused,  so  that  no  man 
has  found  the  sound  of  a  drum  in  this  distich : 

"  When  pulpit,  drum  ecclesiastic, 
Was  beat  with  fist  instead  of  a  stick" ; 

and  that  the  wonderful  lines  upon  Honor  and 
a  Bubble  have  hitherto  passed  without  notice : 

"  Honor  is  like  the  glassy  bubble, 
Which  cost  philosophf  rs  such  trouble ; 
Where  one  part  crack'd,  tlie  whole  does  fly. 
And  wits  are  crack'd  to  find  out  why." 


In  these  verses,  says  Minim,  we  have  two 
striking  accommodations  of  the  sound  to  the 
sense.  It  is  impossible  to  utter  the  two  lines 
emphatically  without  an  act  like  that  which 
they  describe  ;  Bubble  and  Trouble  causing  a 
momentary  inflation  of  the  cheeks  by  the  re- 
tention of  the  breath,  which  is  afterwards 
forcibly  emitted,  as  in  the  practice  of  bloicing 
bubbles.     But  the  greatest  excellence  is  in  the 


DICK  MINIM  THE   ClilTIC.  187 

third  line,  which  is  crack'' d  in  the  middle  to 
express  a  crack,  and  then  shivers  into  mono- 
syllables. Yet  has  this  diamond  lain  neg- 
lected with  common  stones ;  and  araon^  the 
innumerable  admirers  of  Hudibras  the  obser- 
vation of  this  superlative  passage  has  been 
reserved  for  the  sagacity  of  Minim. 

June  9, 1759.  / 


IDLXB.]  No.  28.  [Johnson. 

DICK  MINIM  THE  CEITIC.     (.Continued.) 

[Di  te,  Damasippe,  Deseque 
Verum  oo  consilium  douent  tonsore  1    Bbr.] 

Mr.  Minim  had  now  advanced  himself  to  the 
zenith  of  critical  reputation  ;  when  he  was  in 
the  pif,  every  eye  in  the  boxes  was  fixed  upon 
him ;  when  he  entered  his  coffee-house,  he 
was  surrounded  by  circles  of  candidates,  who 
passed  theu-  novitiate  of  literature  under  his 
tuition  ;  his  opinion  was  asked  by  all  who  had 
no  opinion  of  their  own,  and  j'et  loved  to 
debate  and  decide  ;  and  no  composition  was 
supposed  to  pass  in  safety  to  posterity,  till  it 
had  been  secured  by  Minim's  approbation. 

Minim  professes  great  admiration  of  the 
wisdom  and  munificence  by  which  the  acade- 
mies of  the  Continent  were  raised,  and  often 
wishes  for  some  standard  of  taste,  for  some 
tribunal,  to  which  merit  may  appeal  from 
caprice,  prejudice,  and  malignity.  He  has 
formed  a  plan  for  an  Academy  of  Criticism, 
where  ever}-  work  of  imagination  may  be  read 
before  it  is  printed,  and  which  shall  authori- 
tatively direct  the  theatres  what  pieces  to 
receive  or  reject,  lo  exclude  or  to  revive. 

Such  an  institution  would,  in  Dick's  opin- 
ion, spread  the  fame  of  English  literature  over 
Europe,  and  make  London   the  metropolis  of 


DICK  MINIM  THE  CRITIC  189 

elegance  and  politeness,  the  place  to  which 
the  learned  and  ingenious  of  all  countries 
would  repair  for  instruction  and  improvement, 
and  where  nothing  would  any  longer  be  ap- 
plauded or  endured  that  was  not  conformed  to 
the  nicest  rules,  and  finished  with  the  highest 
elegance. 

Till  soma  happy  conjunction  of  the  planets 
shall  dispose  our  princes  or  minister  to  make 
themselves  immortal  by  such  an  academy. 
Minim  contents  himself  to  preside  four  nights 
in  a  week  in  a  critical  society  selected  by  him- 
self, where  he  is  heard  without  contradiction, 
and  whence  his  judgment  is  disseminated 
through  the  great  vulgar  and  the  small. 

When  he  is  placed  in  the  chair  of  criticism, 
he  declares  loudly  for  the  noble  simplicity  of 
our  ancestors,  in  opposition  to  the  petty  re- 
finements, and  ornamental  luxuria,nce.  Some- 
times ho  is  sunk  in  despair,  and  perceives 
false  delicacy  daily  gaining  ground ;  and 
sometimes  brightens  his  countenance  with  a 
gleam  of  hope,  and  predicts  the  revival  of  the 
true  sublime.  He  then  fulminates  his  loudest 
censures  against  the  monkish  barbarity  of 
rhyme ;  wonders  how  beings  that  pretend  to 
reason  can  be  pleased  with  one  line  always 
ending  like  another ;  tells  how  unjustl}^  and 
unnaturally  sense  is  sacrificed  to  sound  ;  how 
often  the  best  thoughts  are  mangled  by  the 
necessity  of  confining  or  extending  them  to 
the  dimensions  of  a  couplet ;  and  rejoices  that 
genius  has,  in  our  days,  shaken  off  the  shackles 
which  had  incumbered  it  so  long.     Yet  he 


190  DICK  MINIM  THE   CBITIC. 

allows  that  rhyme  may  sometimes  be  borne,  if 
the  lines  be  often  broken,  and  the  pauses 
judiciously  diversified. 

From  blank  verse  he  makes  an  easy  transi- 
tion to  Milton,  -whom  he  produces  as  an  ex- 
ample of  the  slow  advance  of  lasting  reputa- 
tion. Milton  is  the  only  writer  in  whose  books 
Minim  can  read  forever  without  weariness. 
What  cause  it  is  that  exempts  this  pleasure 
from  satiety  he  has  long  and  diligently  in- 
quired, and  believes  it  to  consist  in  the  per- 
petual variation  of  the  numbers,  by  which  the 
ear  is  gratified  and  the  attention  awakened. 
The  lines  that  are  commonly  thought  rugged 
and  unmusical,  he  conceives  to  have  been 
written  to  temper  the  melodious  luxury  of  the 
rest,  or  to  express  things  by  a  proper  cadence  : 
for  he  scarcely  finds  a  verse  that  has  not  this 
favorite  beauty ;  he  declares  that  he  could 
shiver  in  a  hot-house,  when  he  reads  that 

" the  ground 
Bums  frore,  and  cold  performs  th'  effect  of  fire  "; 

and  that,  when  Milton  bewails  his  blindness, 
the  verse 
"  So  thick  a  drop  serene  has  quenched  these  orbs  " 

has,  he  knows  not  how,  something  that  strikes 
him  with  an  obscure  sensation  like  that  which 
he  fancies  would  be  felt  from  the  sound  of 
darkness. 

Minim  is  not  so  confident  of  his  rules  of 
judgment  as  not  very  eagerly  to  catch  new 
light  from  the  name  of  the  author.  He  is 
commonly  so  prudent  as  to  spare  those  whom 


DICK  JIIXIM  THE   CRITIC.  191 

he  cannot  resist,  unless,  as  will  sometimes 
happen,  he  finds  the  public  combined  against 
them.  But  a  fresh  preteudex*  to  fame  he  is 
strongly  inclined  to  censure,  lill  his  own  honor 
requires  tliat  he  commend  him.  Till  he  knows 
the  success  of  a  composition,  he  intrenches 
himself  in  general  terms  ;  there  are  some  new 
thoughts  and  beautiful  passages  ;  but  there  is 
likewise  much  which  he  would  have  advised 
the  author  to  expunge.  He  has  several  favor- 
ite epithets,  of  which  he  has  never  settled  the 
meaning,  but  which  are  very  commodiously 
applied  to  books  which  he  has  not  read,  or 
cannot  understand.  One  is  manly.,  another  is 
dry.,  another  stiff,  and  another  flimsy ;  some- 
times he  discovers  delicacy  of  style,  and 
sometimes  meets  with  strange  expressions. 

He  is  never  so  great,  or  so  happy,  as  when 
a  youth  of  promising  parts  is  brought  to  re- 
ceive his  directions  for  the  [irosecution  of  his 
studies.  He  then  puts  on  a  very  serious  air ; 
he  advises  his  pupil  to  read  none  but  the  best 
authors  ;  and,  when  he  finds  one  congenial  to 
his  own  mind,  to  study  his  beauties,  but  avoid 
his  faults;  ami,  when  he  sits  down  to  write, 
to  consider  how  his  favorite  author  would 
think  at  the  present  time  on  the  present  occa- 
sion. He  exhorts  him  to  catch  those  moments 
when  he  finds  his  thoughts  expanded  and  his 
genius  exalted  ;  but  to  take  care  lest  imagina- 
tion hurry  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  nature. 
He  holds  diligence  the  mother  of  success  :  yet 
enjoins  him,  with  great  earnestness,  not  to 
read  more  than  he  can  digest,  and  not  to  con- 


1D2  DICK  MINIM  THE   CIiITIC. 

fuse  his  mind  by  pursuing  studies  of  contrary 
tendencies.  He  tells  him  that  every  man  has 
his  genius,  and  that  Cicero  could  never  be  a 
poet.  The  boy  retires  illuminated,  resolves 
to  follow  his  genius,  and  to  think  how  Milton 
would  have  thought :  and  Minim  feasts  upon 
his  own  beneficence  till  another  day  brings 
another  pupil. 

June  16, 1759. 


Idler.]  N"o.    S9.  [Reynolds. 

AET-CONNOISSETJES. 

[Babtilia  vetemm  judex  et  callidus.  .  .  ,    Jlor.] 

Siu, —  I  was  much  pleased  with  your  ridicule 
of  those  shallow  Critics,  whose  judgment, 
though  often  right  as  far  as  it  goes,  j-et 
reaches  only  to  inferior  beauties,  and  who, 
unable  to  comprehend  the  whole,  judge  only 
by  parts,  and  from  thence  determine  the  merit 
of  extensive  works.  But  there  is  another 
kind  of  Critic  still  worse,  who  judges  by  nar- 
row rules,  and  those  too  often  false,  and  which, 
though  they  should  be  true,  and  founded  on 
naturo,  will  lead  him  but  a  very  little  way 
towards  the  just  estimation  of  the  sublime 
beauties  in  works  of  genius ;  for  whatever 
part  of  an  art  can  be  executed  or  criticised  by 
rules,  that  part  is  no  longer  the  work  of  genius, 
which  implies  excellence  out  of  the  reach  of 
rules.  For  my  own  part,  I  profess  myself  an 
Idl  r,  and  love  to  give  my  judgment,  such  as 
it  is,  from  my  immediate  perceptions,  without 
much  fatigue  of  thinking  ;  and  1  am  of  opinion, 
that  if  a  man  has  not  those  perceptions  right, 
it  will  be  vain  for  him  to  endeavor  to  supply 
their  place  by  rules,  which  may  enable  him  to 
talk  more  learnedly,  but  not  to  distinguish 
more  acutely.  Another  reason  which  has  les- 
sened ray  affection  for  the  study  of  criticism 
13 


194  ABT-CONNOISSETmS. 

is,  that  Critics,  so  far  as  I  have  observed, 
debar  themselves  from  receiving  any  pleasure 
from  the  polite  arts,  at  the  same  time  that 
they  profess  to  love  and  admu'e  them :  for 
these  rules,  being  always  uppermost,  give  tliem 
such  a  propensity  to  criticise,  that,  instead  of 
giving  up  the  reins  of  their  imagination  into 
their  author's  hands,  their  frigid  minds  are 
emploj'ed  in  examining  whether  the  perform- 
ance be  according  to  the  rules  of  art. 

To  those  who  are  resolved  to  be  Critics  in 
spite  of  nature,  and,  at  the  same  time,  have 
no  great  disposition  to  much  reading  and 
study,  I  would  recommend  to  them  to  assume 
the  character  of  Connoisseur,  which  may  be 
purchased  at  a  much  cheaper  rate  than  that  of 
a  Critic  in  poetry.  The  remembrance  of  a 
few  names  of  painters,  with  their  general 
characters,  with  a  few  rules  of  the  Academy, 
which  they  may  pick  up  among  the  painters, 
will  go  a  great  way  towards  making  a  very 
notable  Connoisseur. 

"With  a  gentleman  of  this  cast,  I  visited  last 
week  the  Cartoons  at  Hampton-Court ;  he  was 
just  returned  from  Italy,  a  Connoisseur  of 
course,  and  of  course  his  mouth  full  of  nothing 
but  the  grace  of  Raflfaelle,  the  purity  of  Do- 
menichino,  the  learning  of  Poussin,  the  air  of 
Guido,  the  greatness  of  taste  of  the  Caraches, 
and  the  sublimity  and  grand  contorno  of 
Michael  Angelo  ;  with  all  the  rest  of  the  cant 
of  criticism,  which  he  emitted  with  that  volu- 
bility which  generally  those  orators  have  who 
annex  no  idea  to  their  words. 


ABT-G0NN0ISSEUR8.  195 

As  we  were  passing  through  the  rooms,  in 
our  way  to  the  gallery,  I  made  him  observe  a 
whole  length  of  Charles  the  First,  by  Vandyke, 
as  a  perfect  representation  of  the  character  as 
well  as  the  figure  of  tho  man.  He  agreed  it 
was  very  fine,  but  it  wanted  spirit  and  con- 
trast, and  had  not  the  flowing  line,  without 
which  a  figure  could  not  possibly  be  graceful. 
Wlien  we  entered  the  Gallery,  I  thought  I 
could  perceive  him  recollecting  his  rules  by 
which  he  was  to  criticise  Raffaelle.  I  shall 
pass  over  his  observation  of  the  boats  being 
too  little,  and  other  criticisms  of  that  kind, 
till  we  arrived  at  St.  Paul  jyreacJdng.  "This 
(says  he)  is  esteemed  the  most  excellent  of  all 
the  Cartoons ;  what  nobleness,  what  dignity 
there  is  in  that  figure  of  St.  Paul !  and  yet 
what  an  addition  to  that  nobleness  could  Raf- 
faelle have  given,  had  the  art  of  contrast  been 
known  in  his  time  !  but,  above  all,  the  flowing 
line,  which  constitutes  grace  and  beauty. 
You  would  not  then  have  seen  an  upright  fig- 
ure standing  equally  on  both  legs,  and  both 
hands  stretched  forward  in  the  same  dii'ection, 
and  his  drapery,  to  all  appearance,  without  the 
least  art  of  disposition."  The  following  pic- 
ture is  the  Charge  to  Peter.  "Here  (says he) 
are  twelve  upright  figures ;  what  a  pity  it  is 
that  Raffaelle  was  not  acquainted  with  the 
pyramidal  principle  !  He  would  then  have  con- 
trived the  figures  in  the  middle  to  have  been 
on  higher  ground,  or  the  figures  at  the  ex- 
tremities stooping  or  lying,  which  would  not 
only  have  formed  the  group  into  the  shape  of 


196  ABT-COXNOISSEUES. 

a  pyramid,  but  likewise  contrasted  the  stand- 
ing figures.  Indeed,"  added  he,  "  I  have  often 
lamented  that  so  great  a  genius  as  Raffaelle 
had  not  lived  in  this  enlightened  age,  since 
the  art  has  been  reduced  to  principles,  and  had 
had  his  education  in  one  of  the  modern  acade- 
mies ;  what  glorious  works  might  we  then  have 
expected  from  his  divine  pencil !  " 

I  shall  trouble  you  no  longer  with  my 
friend's  observations,  which,  I  suppose,  you 
are  now  able  to  continue  by  yourself.  It  is 
curious  to  observe,  that,  at  the  same  time  that 
great  admiration  is  pretended  for  a  name  of 
fixed  reputation,  objections  are  raised  against 
those  very  qualities  by  which  that  great  name 
was  acquired. 

Those  Critics  are  continually  lamenting 
that  Raffaelle  had  not  the  coloring  and  har- 
mony of  Rubens,  or  the  light  and  shadow  of 
Rembrandt,  without  considering  how  much 
the  gay  harmony  of  the  former,  and  affecta- 
tion of  the  latter,  would  take  from  the  diguity^ 
of  Raffaelle ;  and  yet  Rubens  had  great  har- 
mony, and  Rembrandt  understood  light  and 
shadow  :  but  what  may  be  an  excellence  in  a 
lower  class  of  painting,  becomes  a  blemish  in 
a  higher ;  as  the  quick,  sprightly  turn  which 
is  the  life  and  beauty  of  epigrammatic  com- 
positions, would  but  ill  suit  with  the  majesty 
of  heroic  poetry. 

To  conclude :  I  would  not  be  thought  to 
infer  from  anything  that  has  been  said  that 
rules  are  absolutely  unnecessary  ;  but  to  cen- 
sure scrupulosity,  a  servile  attention  to  minute 


ART-C0NN0ISSEUB8.  197 

exactness,  which  is  sometimes  inconsistent 
with  higher  excellency,  and  is  lost  in  the  blaze 
of  eNpanded  genius. 

I  do  not  know  whether  3-011  will  think  paint- 
ing a  general  subject.  By  inserting  this  let- 
ter, perhaps  you  will  incur  the  censure  a  man 
would  deserve,  whose  business  being  to  enter- 
tain a  whole  room,  should  turn  his  back  to 
the  company,  and  talk  to  a  particular  person. 
I  am,  Sir,  etc. 

Skpt.  29, 1759. 


CiT.  "WoKLD.]  N'o.    30,  [Goldsmith. 

THE  MAN  IN  BLACK. 

['O  avdpMTTOi  eiitpyeroi  Jre^vxiis.     Antotlin.] 

Though  fond  of  many  acquaintances,  I 
desire  an  intimacy  only  with  a  few.  The 
Man  in  Black,  whom  I  have  often  mentioned, 
is  one  whose  friendship  I  could  wish  to  ac- 
quire, because  he  possesses  my  esteem.  His 
manners,  it  is  true,  are  tinctured  with  some 
strange  inconsistencies  ;  and  he  may  be  justly 
termed  an  humorist  in  a  nation  of  humorists. 
Though  he  is  generous  even  to  profusion,  he 
affects  to  be  thought  a  prodigy  of  parsimony 
and  prudence ;  though  his  conversation  be 
replete  with  the  most  sordid  and  selfish 
maxims,  his  heart  is  dilated  with  the  most 
unbounded  love.  I  have  known  him  profess 
himself  a  man-hater,  while  his  cheek  was 
glowing  with  compassion  ;  and,  while  his  looks 
were  softened  into  pity,  I  have  heard  him  use 
the  language  of  the  most  unbounded  ill-nature. 
Some  affect  humanity  and  tenderness,  others 
boast  of  having  such  dispositions  from  Nature  ; 
but  he  is  the  only  man  I  ever  knew  who 
seemed  ashamed  of  his  natural  benevolence. 
He  takes  as  much  pains  to  hide  his  feelings, 
as  any  hypocrite  would  to  conceal  his  indiffer- 
ence ;   but  on  every  unguarded  moment  the 


THE  MAN  IN  BLACK.  199 

mask  drops  off,  and  reveals  him  to  the  most 
superficial  observer. 

In  one  of  our  late  excursions  into  the 
country,  happening  to  discourse  upon  the 
provision  that  was  made  for  the  poor  in 
England,  he  seemed  amazed  how  any  of  his 
countrymen  could  be  so  foolishly  weak  as  to 
relieve  occasional  objects  of  charity,  when  the 
laws  had  made  such  ample  provision  for  their 
support.  "  In  every  parish-house,"  says  he, 
^'  the  poor  are  supplied  with  food,  clothes, 
fire,  and  a  bed  to  lie  on  ;  they  want  no  more, 
I  desire  no  more  myself ;  yet  still  they  seem 
discontented.  I  'm  surprised  at  the  inactivity 
of  our  magistrates,  in  not  taking  up  such 
vagrants,  who  are  only  a  weight  upon  the  in- 
dustrious ;  I  'm  surprised  that  the  people  are 
found  to  relieve  them,  when  they  must  be  at 
the  same  time  sensible  that  it,  in  some  measure, 
encoiu-ages  idleness,  extravagance,  and  im- 
posture. Were  I  to  advise  any  man  for 
whom  I  had  the  least  regard,  I  would  caution 
him  by  all  means  not  to  be  imposed  upon  by 
their  false  pretences :  let  me  assure  you,  Sir, 
they  are  impostors,  every  one  of  them ;  and 
rather  merit  a  prison  than  relief." 

He  was  proceeding  in  this  strain  earnestly, 
to  dissuade  me  from  an  imprudence  of  which 
I  am  seldom  guilty,  when  an  old  man,  who 
still  had  about  him  the  remnants  of  tattered 
finery,  implored  our  compassion.  He  assured 
us  that  he  was  no  common  beggar,  but  forced 
into  the  shameful  profession  to  support  a 
dying  wife  and  five  hungiy  children.     Being 


200  THE  MAN  IN  BLACK. 

prepossessed  against  such  falsehoods,  his  story 
had  not  the  least  influence  upon  me ;  but  it 
was  quite  otherwise  with  the  iNIan  in  Black  ;  I 
could  see  it  visibly  operate  upon  his  counte- 
nance, and  effectually  interrupt  his  harangue. 
I  could  easily  perceive  that  his  heart  burned 
to  relieve  the  five  starving  children,  but  he 
seemed  ashamed  to  discover  his  weakness  to 
me.  While  he  thus  hesitated  between  com- 
passion and  pride,  I  pretended  to  look  another 
way,  and  he  seized  this  opportunity  of  giviDg 
the  poor  petitioner  a  piece  of  silver,  bidding 
him  at  the  same  time,  in  order  that  I  should 
hear,  go  work  for  his  bread,  and  not  tease 
passengers  with  such  impertinent  falsehoods 
for  the  future. 

As  he  had  fancied  himself  quite  unperceived, 
he  continued,  as  we  proceeded,  to  rail  against 
beggars  with  as  much  animosity  as  before  ;  he 
threw  in  some  episodes  on  his  own  amazing 
prudence  and  economy,  with  his  profound 
skill  in  discovering  impostors ;  he  explained 
the  manner  in  which  he  would  deal  with  beg- 
gars, were  he  a  magistrate,  hinted  at  enlar- 
ging some  of  the  prisons  for  their  reception, 
and  told  two  stories  of  ladies  that  were  robbed 
by  beggar-men.  He  was  beginning  a  third  to 
the  same  purpose,  when  a  sailor  with  a  wooden 
leg  once  more  crossed  our  walks,  desiring  our 
pity,  and  blessing  our  limbs.  I  was  for  going 
on  without  taking  any  notice,  but  my  friend 
looking  wishfully  upon  the  poor  petitioner,  bid 
me  stop,  and  he  would  shew  me  with  how  much 
ease  he  could  at  any  time  detect  an  impostor. 


THE  MAN  IN  BLACK.  201 

He  now,  therefore,  assumed  a  look  of  im- 
portance, and  in  an  angry  tone  began  to  exam- 
ine the  sailor,  demanding  in  what  engagement 
he  was  thus  disabled  and  rendered  unfit  for 
service.  The  sailor  replied  in  atone  as  angrily 
as  he,  that  he  had  been  an  officer  on  board 
a  private  ship  of  war,  and  that  he  had  lost  his 
leg  abroad,  in  defence  of  those  who  did  noth- 
ing at  home.  At  this  reply,  all  my  friend's 
importance  vanished  in  a  moment ;  he  had  not 
a  single  question  more  to  ask ;  he  now  only 
studied  what  method  he  should  take  to  relieve 
him  unobserved.  He  had,  however,  no  easy 
part  to  act,  as  he  was  obliged  to  presei've  the 
appearance  of  ill-nature  before  me,  and  yet 
relieve  himself  by  relieving  the  sailor.  Cast- 
ing, therefore,  a  furious  look  upon  some  bun- 
dles of  chips  which  the  fellow  carried  in  a 
string  at  his  back,  my  friend  demanded  how 
he  sold  his  matches ;  but  not  waiting  for  a 
reply,  desired,  in  a  surly  tone,  to  have  a 
shilling's  worth.  The  sailor  seemed  at  first 
surprised  at  his  demand,  but  soon  recollecting 
himself,  and  presenting  his  whole  bundle  — 
"  Here,  master,"  says  he,  "  take  all  my  cargo, 
and  a  blessing  into  the  bargain." 

It  is  impossible  t  >  describe  with  what  an  air 
of  triumph  my  friend  marched  off  with  his  new 
purchase  ;  he  assured  me  that  he  was  firmly 
of  opinion  that  those  fellows  must  have  stolen 
their  goods  who  could  thus  afford  to  sell  them 
for  half  value.  He  informed  me  of  several 
different  uses  to  which  those  chips  might  be 
applied ;  he  expatiated  largely  upon  the  sav- 


202  THE  MAN  IN  BLACK. 

ings  that  would  result  from  lighting  candles 
with  a  match  instead  of  thrusting  them  into 
the  fire.  He  averred  that  he  would  as  soon 
have  parted  with  a  tooth  as  his  money  to  those 
vagabonds,  unless  for  some  valuable  consid- 
eration. I  cannot  tell  how  long  this  panegyric 
upon  frugality  and  matches  might  have  con- 
tinued, had  not  his  attention  been  called  ofif  by 
another  object  more  distressful  than  either  of 
the  former.  A  woman  in  rags,  with  one  child 
in  her  arras,  and  another  on  her  back,  was 
attempting  to  sing  ballads,  but  with  such  a 
mournful  voice  that  it  was  difficult  to  deter- 
mine whether  she  was  singing  or  crying.  A 
wretch  who  in  the  deepest  distress  still  aimed 
at  good-humor,  was  an  object  my  friend  was 
by  no  means  capable  of  withstanding  ;  his 
vivacity  and  his  discourse  were  instantly  in- 
terrupted ;  upon  this  occasion  his  very  dis- 
simulation had  forsaken  him.  Even  in  my 
presence,  he  immediately  applied  his  hands 
to  his  pockets,  in  order  to  relieve  her ;  but 
guess  his  confusion,  when  he  found  he  had 
already  given  away  all  the  money  he  carried 
about  him  to  former  objects.  The  misery 
painted  in  the  woman's  visage  was  not  half  so 
strongly  expressed  as  the  agony  in  his.  He 
continued  to  search  for  some  time,  but  to  no 
purpose,  till,  at  length,  recollecting  himself, 
with  a  face  of  ineffable  good-nature,  as  he  had 
no  money,  he  put  into  her  hands  his  shilling's 
worth  of  matches. 

1760. 


CiT.  WoBU).]  No.  31.  [Goldsmith. 

BEAU  TIBBS. 

[Quid  .  •  .  feret  hie  promiasor?    JTorJ] 

Though  naturally  pensive,  yet  I  am  fond  of 
gay  company,  and  take  every  opportunity  of 
thus  dismissing  the  mind  from  duty.  From 
this  motive  I  am  often  found  in  the  centre  of 
a  crowd  ;  and  wherever  pleasure  is  to  be  sold, 
am  always  a  purchaser.  In  those  places,  with- 
out being  remarked  by  any,  I  join  in  whatever 
goes  forward  ;  work  my  passions  into  a  simili- 
tude of  frivolous  earnestness,  shout  as  they 
shout,  and  condemn  as  they  happen  to  dis- 
approve. A  mind  thus  sunk  for  a  while  below 
its  natural  standard,  is  qualified  for  stronger 
flights,  as  those  first  retire  who  would  spring 
forward  with  greater  vigor. 

Attracted  by  the  serenity  of  the  evening,  a 
friend  and  I  lately  went  to  gaze  upon  the  com- 
pany in  one  of  the  public  walks  near  the  city. 
Here  we  sauntered  together  for  some  time, 
either  praising  the  beauty  of  such  as  were 
handsome,  or  the  dresses  of  such  as  had  noth- 
ing else  to  recommend  them.  We  had  gone 
thus  deliberately  forward  for  some  time,  when 
my  friend,  stopping  on  a  sudden,  caught  me 
by  the  elbow,  and  led  me  out  of  the  public 
walk.     I  could  perceive  by  the  quickness  of 


20i  BEAU  TIBBS. 

his  pace,  and  by  his  frequently  looking  behind, 
that  he  was  attempting  to  avoid  somebody 
■who  followed ;  we  now  turned  to  the  right, 
then  to  the  left ;  as  we  went  forward,  he  still 
went  faster,  but  in  vain  ;  the  person  whom  he 
attempted  to  escape,  hunted  us  through  every 
doubling,  and  gained  upon  us  each  moment ; 
so  that  at  last  we  fairly  stood  still,  resolving 
to  face  what  we  could  not  avoid. 

Our  pursuer  soon  came  up,  and  joined  us 
with  all  the  familiarity  of  an  old  acquaintance. 
"  My  dear  Charles,"  cries  he,  shaking  my 
friend's  hand,  "  where  have  you  been  hiding 
this  half  a  century  ?  Positively  I  had  fancied 
you  were  gone  down  to  cultivate  matrimony 
and  your  estate  in  the  country."  During  the 
reply  I  had  an  opportunity  of  surveying  the 
appearance  of  our  new  companion.  His  hat 
was  pinched  up  with  peculiar  smartness ;  his 
looks  were  pale,  thin,  and  sharp  ;  round  his 
neck  he  wore  a  broad  black  ribbon,  and  in  his 
bosom  a  buckle  studded  with  glass ;  his  coat 
was  trimmed  with  tarnished  twist ;  he  wore 
by  his  side  a  sword  with  a  black  hilt,  and 
his  stockings  of  si;k,  though  newly  washed, 
were  grown  yellow  by  long  service.  I  was  so 
much  engaged  with  the  peculiarity  of  his  dress, 
that  I  attended  only  to  the  latter  part  of  my 
friend's  reply,  in  which  he  complimented  Mr. 
Tibbs  on  the  taste  of  his  clothes,  and  the  bloom 
in  his  countenance.  "  Psha,  psha,  Charles  !  " 
cried  the  figure,  "  no  more  of  that  if  you  love 
me  ;  you  know  I  hate  flattery,  on  my  soul  I 
do  ;  and  yet,  to  be  sure,  an  intimacy  with  the 


BEAU  TIBBS.  206 

great  will  improve  one's  appearance,  and  a 
course  of  venison  will  fatten ;  and  yet,  faith, 
I  despise  the  great  as  much  as  you  do ;  but 
there  are  a  great  many  honest  fellows  among 
them  ;  and  we  must  not  quarrel  with  one  half 
because  the  other  wants  breeding.  If  they 
were  all  such  as  my  Lord  Mudler,  one  of  the 
most  good-natured  creatures  that  ever  squeezed 
a  lemon,  I  should  myself  be  among  the  num- 
ber of  their  admirers.  I  was  j'esterday  to  dine 
at  the  Duchess  of  Piccadilly's.  My  lord  was 
there.  '  Ned,'  says  he  to  me,  '  Ned,'  says  he, 
'  I  '11  hold  gold  to  silver  I  can  tell  where  you 
were  poaching  last  night.' — 'Poaching,  my 
lord?'  says  1;  'faith,  you  have  missed  al- 
ready ;  for  I  stayed  at  home,  and  let  the  girls 
poach  for  me.  That 's  my  wa}^ ;  I  take  a  fine 
woman  as  some  animals  do  their  prey ;  stand 
still,  and  swoop,  they  fall  into  my  mouth.' " 

'•  Ah,  Tibbs,  thou  art  an  happy  fellow," 
cried  my  companion,  with  looks  of  infinite 
pity;  "I  hope  your  fortune  is  as  much  im- 
proved as  your  understanding  in  such  com- 
pany? "  —  "  Improved  !  "  replied  the  other ; 
"  you  shall  know  —  but  let  it  go  no  further  — 
a  great  secret  —  five  hundred  a  year  to  begin 
with.  My  lord's  word  of  honor  for  it.  His 
lordship  took  me  down  in  his  own  chariot  yes- 
terday, and  we  had  a  tete-a-tete  dinner  in  the 
country  ;  where  we  talked  of  nothing  else." 
—  "I  fancy  j'ou  forgot,  Sir,"  cried  I ;  "  you 
told  us  but  this  moment  of  your  dining  yester- 
day in  town  !  "  —  "  Did  I  say  so?"  replied  he, 
coolly.     "To  be  sure  if  I  said  so  it  was  so. 


206  BEAU  TIBBS. 

Dined  in  town :  egad,  now  I  do  remember,  I 
did  dine  in  town  ;  but  I  dined  in  the  country 
too ;  for  you  must  know,  my  boys,  I  eat  two 
dinners.  By  the  by,  I  am  grown  as  nice  as 
the  devil  in  my  eating.  I  '11  tell  you  a  pleas- 
ant affair  about  that :  We  were  a  select  party 
of  us  to  dine  at  Lady  Grogram's,  an  affected 
piece,  but  let  it  go  no  further ;  a  secret. 
'  Well,'  says  I,  '  I'll  hold  a  thousand  guineas, 
and  say  done  first,  that  — '  But,  dear  Charles, 
you  are  an  honest  creature,  lend  me  half  a 
crown  for  a  minute  or  two,  or  so,  just  till  — 
But,  harkee,  ask  me  for  it  the  next  time  we 
meet,  or  it  may  be  twenty  to  one  but  I  forget 
to  pay  you." 

When  he  left  us,  our  conversation  naturally 
turned  upon  so  extraordinary  a  character. 
"  His  very  dress,"  cries  my  friend,  "  is  not 
less  extraordinary  than  his  conduct.  If  you 
meet  him  this  day,  you  find  him  in  rags  ;  if  the 
next,  in  embroidery.  With  those  persons  of 
distinction,  of  whom  he  talks  so  familiarly,  he 
has  scarce  a  coffee-house  acquaiiitance.  How- 
ever, both  for  the  interests  of  society,  and 
perhaps  for  his  own,  Heaven  has  made  him 
poor ;  and  while  all  the  world  perceives  his 
wants,  he  fancies  them  concealed  from  every 
eye.  An  agreeable  companion,  because  he 
understands  flattery ;  and  all  must  be  pleased 
with  the  first  part  of  his  conversation,  though 
all  are  sure  of  its  ending  with  a  demand  on 
their  purse.  While  his  youth  countenances 
the  levity  of  his  conduct,  he  may  thus  earn  a 
precarious  subsistence ;  but  when  age  comes 


BEAU  TIBBS.  207 

on,  the  gravity  of  which  is  incompatible  with 
buffoonery,  then  will  he  find  himself  forsaken 
by  all ;  condemned,  in  the  decline  of  life,  to 
hang  upon  some  rich  family  whom  he  once 
despised,  there  to  undergo  all  the  ingenuity  of 
studied  contempt,  to  be  employed  only  as  a 
spy  upon  the  servants,  or  a  bugbear  to  fright 
children  into  duty," 

i760. 


Crr.  World.]  No.   3S.  [Gou)Smith. 

BEAU  TIBBS  AT  HOME. 

[.  .  .  Hie  vivimus  ambitiosa 
Panpertate  omnea.  .  .  .    Juv.} 

There  are  some  acquaintances  wliom  it  is 
no  easy  matter  to  shake  off.  My  little  beau 
yesterday  overtook  me  again  in  one  of  the 
public  walks,  and,  slapping  me  on  the  shoul- 
der, saluted  me  with  an  air  of  the  most  per- 
fect familiarity.  His  dress  was  the  same  as 
usual,  except  that  he  had  more  powder  in 
his  hair ;  wore  a  dirtier  shirt,  and  had  on  a 
pair  of  temple  spectacles,  and  his  hat  under 
his  arm. 

As  I  knew  him  to  be  an  harmless  amusing 
little  thing,  I  could  not  return  his  smiles  with 
any  degree  of  severity  ;  so  we  walked  forward 
on  terms  of  the  utmost  intimacy,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  discussed  all  the  usual  topics  prelimi- 
nary to  particular  conversation. 

The  oddities  that  marked  his  character,  how- 
ever, soon  began  to  appear  ;  he  bowed  to  sev- 
eral well-dressed  persons,  who,  by  their  manner 
of  returning  the  compliment,  appeared  perfect 
strangers.  At  intervals  he  drew  out  a  pocket- 
book,  seeming  to  take  memorandums  before 
all  the  company,  with  much  importance  and 
assiduity.  In  this  manner  he  led  me  through 
the  length  of  the  whole  Mall,  fretting  at   his 


BEAU  TIBBS  AT  HOME.  209 

absurdities,  and   fancying  m3'self   laughed  at 
as  well  as  he  by  every  spectator. 

When  we  were  got  to  the  end  of  our  proces- 
sion —  "  Hang  me  ! "  cries  he,  with  an  air  of 
vivacity,  "  I  never  saw  the  Park  so  thin  in  my 
life  before  ;  there 's  no  company  at  all  to-day. 
Not  a  single  face  to  be  seen."  —  "  No  com- 
pany!" interrupted  I,  peevishly;  "no  com- 
pany where  there  is  such-a  crowd?  why,  man, 
there  is  too  much.  What  are  the  thousands 
that  have  been  laughing  at  us  but  company?" 
—  "Lord,  my  dear,"  returned  he,  with  the 
utmost  good-humor,  "  you  seem  immensely 
chagrined ;  but,  hang  me,  when  the  world 
laughs  at  me,  I  laugh  at  all  the  world,  and  so 
we  are  even.  My  Lord  Trip,  Bill  Squash,  the 
Creolian,  and  I,  sometimes  make  a  party  at 
being  ridiculous ;  and  so  we  say  and  do  a 
thousand  things  for  the  joke  sake.  But  I  see 
you  are  grave,  and  if  you  are  for  a  fine  grave 
sentimental  companion,  you  shall  dine  with 
my  wife  to-day  ;  I  must  insist  on 't ;  I  '11  in- 
troduce 3'ou  to  Mrs.  Tibbs,  a  lady  of  as  elegant 
qualifications  as  any  in  nature  ;  she  was  bred, 
but  that's  between  ourselves,  under  the  in- 
spection of  the  Countess  of  Shoreditch.  A 
charming  body  of  voice !  But  no  more  of 
that,  she  shall  give  us  a  song.  You  shall  see 
my  little  girl  too,  Carolina  Wilhelma  Amelia 
Tibbs,  a  sweet  pretty  creature ;  I  design  her 
for  my  Lord  Drumstick's  eldest  son ;  but 
that's  in  friendship,  let  it  go  no  further  ;  she's 
but  six  years  old,  and  yet  she  walks  a  minuet, 
and  plays  on  tlie  guitar  immensely  already. 
14 


210  BEAU  TIBBS  AT  HOME. 

I  intend  she  shall  be  as  perfect  as  possible  in 
every  accoraplisliment.  In  the  first  place  I  '11 
make  her  a  scholar ;  I  '11  teach  her  Greek  my- 
self, and  I  intend  to  learn  that  language 
purposely  to  instruct  her ;  but  let  that  be  a 
secret." 

Thus  saying,  without  waiting  for  a  reply, 
he  took  me  by  the  arm  and  hauled  me  along. 
We  passed  through  many  dark  alleys  and 
winding  ways ;  for,  from  some  motives  to  me 
unknown,  he  seemed  to  have  a  particular  aver- 
sion to  every  frequented  street ;  at  last,  how- 
ever, we  got  to  the  door  of  a  dismal-looking 
house  in  the  outlets  of  the  town,  where  he  in- 
formed me  he  chose  to  reside  for  the  benefit 
of  the  air. 

"We  entered  the  lower  door,  which  seemed 
ever  to  lie  most  hospitably  open  :  and  I  began 
to  ascend  an  old  and  creaking  staircase,  when, 
as  he  mounted  to  shew  me  the  way,  he  de- 
manded, whether  I  delighted  in  prospects  ;  to 
which  answering  in  the  affirmative,  —  "Then," 
says  he,  "I  shall  show  you  one  of  the  most 
charming  out  of  my  windows  ;  we  sliall  see 
the  ships  sailing,  and  the  whole  country  for 
twenty  miles  round,  tip  top,  quite  high.  My 
Lord  Swamp  would  give  ten  thousand  guineas 
for  such  a  one  ;  but,  as  I  sometimes  pleasantly 
tell  hira,  I  always  love  to  keep  my  prospects 
at  home,  that  my  friends  may  come  to  see  me 
the  oftener." 

By  this  time  we  were  arrived  as  high  as  the 
stairs  would  permit  us  to  ascend,  till  we  came 
to  what  he  was  facetiously  pleased  to  call  the 


BEAU  TIBBS  AT  HOME.  211 

first  floor  down  the  chimney  ;  and  knocking  at 
the  door,  a  voice,  with  a  Scotch  accent,  from 
within,  demanded,  "  "Wha 's  there ? "  M}' con- 
ductor answered,  that  it  was  him.  But  this 
not  satisfying  the  querist,  the  voice  again 
repeated  the  demand :  to  which  he  answered 
louder  than  before,  and  now  the  door  was 
opened  by  an  old  maid-servant  with  cautious 
reluctance. 

AVTien  we  were  got  in,  he  welcomed  me  to 
his  house  with  great  ceremony,  and  turning  to 
the  old  woman,  asked  where  her  lady  was. 
"  Good  troth,"  replied  she  in  the  northern 
dialect,  "  she 's  washing  your  twa  shirts  at  the 
next  door,  because  they  have  taken  an  oath 
against  lending  out  the  tub  any  longer."  — 
"My  two  shirts!"  cries  he  in  a  tone  that 
faltered  with  confusion,  "  what  does  the  idiot 
mean  !  " —  "  I  ken  what  I  mean  well  enough," 
replied  the  other ;  ' '  she 's  washing  your  twa 
shirts  at  the  next  door,  because  — "  "Fire 
and  fury  !  no  more  of  thy  stupid  explanations," 
cried  he.  "  Go  and  inform  her  we  have  got 
company.  "Were  that  Scotch  hag,"  continued 
he,  turning  to  me,  "  to  be.  forever  in  the 
famil}',  she  would  never  learn  politeness,  nor 
forget  that  absurd  poisonous  accent  of  hers, 
or  testify  the  smallest  specimen  of  breeding  or 
high  life  ;  and  yet  it  is  very  surprising  too,  as 
I  had  her  from  a  parliament  man,  a  friend  of 
mine,  from  the  Highlands,  one  of  the  politest 
men  in  the  world  ;  but  that 's  a  secret." 

We  waited  some  time  for  Mrs.  Tibbs'  ar- 
rival, during  which  interval  I  had  a  full  op- 


212  BEAU  TIBB8  AT  HOME. 

portiinity  of  surveying  the  chamber  and  all  its 
furniture  ;  which  consisted  of  four  chairs  with 
old  wrought  bottoms,  that  he  assured  me  were 
his  wife's  embroidery  ;  a  square  table  that  had 
been  once  japanned,  a  cradle  in  one  corner,  a 
lumbering  cabinet  in  the  other ;  a  broken 
shepherdess,  and  a  mandarin  without  a  head, 
were  stuck  over  the  chimney  ;  and  round  the 
walls  several  paltry,  unf ramed  pictures,  which, 
he  observed,  were  all  of  his  own  drawing  — 
"  What  do  you  think,  Sir,  of  that  head  in 
the  corner,  done  in  the  manner  of  Grisoni? 
There 's  the  true  keeping  in  it ;  it 's  my  own 
face :  and  though  there  happens  to  be  no  like- 
ness, a  countess  offered  me  an  hundred  for  its 
fellow  :  I  refused  her ;  for,  hang  it,  that  would 
be  mechanical,  you  know." 

The  wife,  at  last,  made  her  appearance,  at 
once  a  slattern  and  a  coquette ;  much  ema- 
ciated, but  still  carrying  the  remains  of  beauty. 
She  made  twenty  apologies  for  being  seen  in 
such  odious  dishabille,  but  hoped  to  be  ex- 
cused, as  she  had  stayed  out  all  night  at  Vaux- 
hall  Gardens  with  the  countess,  who  was 
excessively  fond  of  the  horns.  "  And  indeed, 
my  dear,"  added  she,  turning  to  her  husband, 
"  his  lordship  drank  your  health  in  a  bumper." 
— "Poor  Jack,"  cries  he,  "a  dear  good- 
natured  creature,  I  know  he  loves  me ;  but  I 
hope,  my  dear,  you  have  given  orders  for 
dinner?  3'ou  need  make  no  great  preparations 
neither,  there  are  but  three  of  us  ;  something 
elegant,  and  little  will  do ;  a  turbot,  an  orto- 
lan, or  a  — "      "Or  what  do  you  think,  my 


BEAU  TIBBS  AT  HOME.  213 

dear,"  interrupts  the  wife,  "of  a  nice,  pretty 
bit  of  ox-cheek,  piping  hot,  and  dressed  with 
a  little  of  my  own  sauce  ?  "  —  "  The  very 
thing,"  replies  he  ;  "it  will  eat  best  with  some 
smart  bottled  beer  ;  but  be  sure  to  let 's  have 
the  sauce  his  grace  was  so  fond  of.  I  hate 
your  immense  loads  of  meat ;  that  is  country 
all  over ;  extreme  disgusting  to  those  who  are 
in  the  least  acquainted  with  high  life." 

By  this  time  my  curiosity  began  to  abate, 
and  my  appetite  to  increase  ;  the  company  of 
fools  may  at  first  make  us  smile,  but  at  last 
never  fails  of  rendering  us  melancholy.  I 
therefore  pretended  to  recollect  a  prior  engage- 
ment, and  after  having  shewn  my  respect  to 
the  house,  by  giving  the  old  servant  a  piece  of 
money  at  the  door,  I  took  my  leave :  Mr. 
Tibbs  assuring  me  that  dinner,  if  I  stayed, 
would  be  ready  at  least  in  less  than  two  hours. 

1760. 


CiT.  WOHU).]  N"o.  33.  [QOU)BMITH. 

BEAU  TIBBS  AT  YAUXHALL. 

t.  .  Nunc  et  campus,  et  arese,  ^ 

enesque  sub  noctem  suBurri 
Composita  repetantur  hora.    Mor.} 

The  people  of  London  are  as  fond  of  walk- 
ing as  our  friends  at  Pekin  of  riding  ;  one  of 
the  principal  entertainments  of  the  citizens 
here  in  summer  is  to  repair  about  nightfall  to 
a  garden  not  far  from  town,  where  they  walk 
about,  shew  their  best  clothes  and  best  faces, 
and  listen  to  a  concert  provided  for  the  occa- 
sion. 

I  accepted  an  invitation,  a  few  evenings 
ago,  from  my  old  friend,  the  Man  in  Black,  to 
be  one  of  a  party  that  was  to  sup  there  ;  and 
at  the  appointed  hour  waited  upon  him  at  his 
lodgings.  There  I  found  the  company  assem- 
bled, and  expecting  my  arrival.  Our  party 
consisted  of  my  friend  in  superlative  finery,  his 
•stockings  rolled,  a  black  velvet  waistcoat  which 
was  formerly  new,  and  his  gray  wig  combed 
down  in  imitation  of  hair ;  a  pawn-broker's 
widow,  of  whom,  by  the  by,  my  fripnd  was 
a  professed  admirer,  dressed  out  in  green 
damask,  with  three  gold  rings  on  every  finger ; 
Mr.  Tibbs,  the  second-rate  beau  I  have  for- 
merly described,  together  with  his  lady,  in 


BEAU  TIBBS  AT   VAUXHALL.        215 

flimsy  silk,  dirty  gauze  instead  of  linen,  and 
a  hat  as  big  as  an  umbrella. 

Our  first  difficulty  was  in  settling  how  we 
should  set  out.  Mrs.  Tibbs  had  a  natural 
aversion  to  the  water ;  and  the  widow,  being 
a  little  in  flesh,  as  warmly  protested  against 
walking ;  a  coach  was  therefore  agreed  upon ; 
which  being  too  small  to  carry  five,  Mr.  Tibbs 
consented  to  sit  in  his  wife's  lap. 

In  this  manner,  therefore,  we  set  forward, 
being  entertained  by  the  way  with  the  bodings 
of  Mr.  Tibbs,  who  assured  us  he  did  not  ex- 
pect to  see  a  single  creature  for  the  evening 
above  the  degree  of  a  cheesemonger ;  that 
this  was  the  last  night  of  the  gardens,  and 
that,  consequently,  we  should  be  pestered 
with  the  nobility  and  gentry  from  Thames 
Street  and  Crooked  Lane  ;  with  several  other 
prophetic  ejaculations,  probably  inspired  by 
the  uneasiness  of  his  situation. 

The  illuminations  began  before  we  arrived ; 
"and  I  must  confess,  that,  upon  entering  the 
gardens,  I  found  every  sense  overpaid  with 
more  than  expected  pleasure  :  the  lights  every- 
where glimmering  through  the  scarcely  moving 
trees  ;  the  full-bodied  concert  bursting  on  the 
stillness  of  the  night,  the  natural  concert  of 
the  birds,  in  the  more  retired  part  of  the  grove, 
vying  with  that  which  was  formed  by  art ;  the 
company  gayly  dressed,  looking  satisfaction, 
and  the  tables  spread  with  various  delicacies  ; 
all  conspired  to  fill  my  imagination  with  the 
visionary  happiness  of  the  Arabian  law-giver, 
and  lifted  me  into  an  ecstasy  of  admiration. 


216         BEAU  TIBBS  AT   VAUXHALL. 

"  Head  of  Confucius,"  cried  I  to  my  friend, 
*'  this  is  fine  !  this  unites  rural  beauty  with 
courtly  magnificence  ;  if  we  except  the  virgins 
of  immortality  that  hang  on  every  tree,  and 
may  be  plucked  at  every  desire,  I  do  not  sec 
how  this  falls  short  of  Mahomet's  Paradise  !  " 
—  "As  for  virgins,"  cries  my  friend,  "it  is 
true,  they  are  a  fruit  that  don't  much  abound 
in  our  gardens  here ;  but  if  ladies,  as  plenty 
as  apples  in  autumn,  and  as  complying  as  any 
houri  of  them  all,  can  content  30U,  I  fancy 
we  have  no  need  to  go  to  heaven  for  para- 
dise." 

I  was  going  to  second  his  remarks,  when  we 
were  called  to  a  consultation  by  Mr.  Tibbs  and 
the  rest  of  the  company,  to  know  in  what 
manner  we  were  to  lay  out  the  evening  to 
the  greatest  advantage.  Mrs.  Tibbs  was  for 
keeping  the  genteel  walk  of  the  garden,  where, 
she  observed,  there  was  always  the  very  best 
company ;  the  widow,  on  the  contrary,  who 
came  but  once  a  season,  was  for  securing  a 
good  standing-place  to  see  the  water-works, 
which,  she  assured  us,  would  begin  in  less 
than  an  hour  at  farthest :  a  dispute  therefore 
began ;  and,  as  it  was  managed  between  two 
of  very  opposite  characters,  it  threatened  to 
grow  more  bitter  at  every  reply.  Mrs.  Tibbs 
wondeied  how  people  could  pretend  to  know 
the  polite  world,  who  had  received  all  tlieir 
rudiments  of  breeding  behind  a  counter ;  to 
which  the  other  replied,  that,  though  some 
people  sat  behind  counters,  yet  they  could  sit 
at  the  head  of  their  own  tables  too,  and  carve 


BEAU  TIBBS  AT   VAUXHALL.        217 

three  good  dishes  of  hot  meat  whenever  they 
thought  proper,  which  was  more  than  some 
people  could  say  for  themselves,  that  hardly 
knew  a  rabbit  and  onions  from  a  green  goose 
and  gooseberries. 

It  is  hard  to  say  where  this  might  have 
ended,  had  not  the  husband,  who  probably 
knew  the  impetuosity  of  his  wife's  disposition, 
proposed  to  end  the  dispute  by  adjourning  to 
a  box,  and  try  if  there  was  anything  to  be 
had  for  supper  that  was  supportable.  To  this 
we  all  consented ;  but  here  a  new  distress 
arose,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tibbs  would  sit  in  none 
but  a  genteel  box,  a  box  where  they  might  see 
and  be  seen ;  one,  as  they  expressed  it,  in  the 
very  focus  of  public  view :  but  such  a  box 
was  not  easy  to  be  obtained,  for  though  we 
were  perfectly  convinced  of  our  own  gentility, 
and  the  gentility  of  our  appearance,  yet  we 
found  it  a  difficult  matter  to  persuade  the 
keepers  of  the  boxes  to  be  of  our  opinion ; 
they  chose  to  reserve  genteel  boxes  for  what 
they  judged  more  genteel  company. 

At  last,  however,  we  were  fixed,  though 
somewhat  obscurely,  and  supplied  with  the 
usual  entertainment  of  the  place.  The  widow 
found  the  supper  excellent,  but  Mrs.  Tibbs 
thought  everything  detestable.  "  Come, 
come,  my  dear,"  cries  the  husband,  by  way  of 
consolation,  "to  be  sure  we  can't  find  such 
dressing  here  as  we  have  at  Lord  Crump's,  or 
Lady  Crimp's  ;  but  for  Vauxhall  dressing,  it 
is  pretty  good  ;  it  is  not  their  victuals,  indeed, 
I  find  fault  with,  but  their  wine  ;  their  wine," 


218         BEAU  TIBBS  AT   VAUXEALL. 

cries  he,  drinking  off  a  glass,  "  indeed,  is  most 
abominable." 

By  this  last  contradiction,  the  widow  was 
fairly  conquered  in  point  of  politeness.  She 
perceived  now  that  she  had  no  pretensions  in 
the  world  to  taste,  her  very  senses  were  vul- 
gar, since  she  had  praised  detestable  custard, 
and  smacked  at  wretched  wine  ;  she  was  there- 
fore content  to  yield  the  victory,  and  for  the 
rest  of  the  night  to  listen  and  improve.  It  is 
true,  she  would  now  and  then  forget  herself, 
and  confess  she  was  pleased ;  but  they  soon 
brought  her  back  again  to  miserable  refine- 
ment. She  once  praised  the  painting  of  the 
box  in  which  we  were  sitting ;  but  was  soon 
convinced  that  such  paltry  pieces  ought  rather 
to  excite  horror  than  satisfaction ;  she  ven- 
tured again  to  commend  one  of  the  singers ; 
but  Mrs.  Tibbs  soon  let  her  know,  in  the  style 
of  a  connoisseur,  that  the  singer  in  question 
had  neither  ear,  voice,  nor  judgment. 

Mr.  Tibbs,  now  willing  to  prove  that  his 
wife's  pretensions  to  music  were  just,  entreated 
her  to  favor  the  company  with  a  song  ;  but  to 
this  she  gave  a  positive  denial — "For  you 
know  very  well,  my  dear,"  says  she,  "  that  I 
am  not  in  voice  to-day  ;  and  when  one's  voice 
is  not  equal  to  one's  judgment,  what  signifies 
singing  ?  Besides,  as  there  is  no  accompani- 
ment, it  would  be  but  spoiling  music."  All 
these  excuses,  however,  were  over-ruled  by 
the  rest  of  the  company ;  who,  though  one 
would  think  they  already  had  music  enough, 
joined  in  the  entreaty ;   but  particularly  the 


BEAU  TIBBS  AT  VAUXHALL.        219 

widow,  now  willing  to  convince  the  company 
of  her  breeding,  pressed  so  warmly,  that  she 
seemed  determined  to  take  no  refusal.  At 
last,  then,  the  lady  complied  ;  and,  after  hum- 
ming for  some  minutes,  began  with  such  a 
voice,  and  such  affectation,  as  I  could  perceive 
gave  but  little  satisfaction  to  any  except  her 
husband.  He  sat  with  rapture  in  his  eye,  and 
beat  time  with  his  hand  on  the  table. 

You  must  observe,  my  friend,  that  it  is  the 
custom  of  this  country,  when  a  lady  or  gentle- 
man happens  to  sing,  for  the  company  to  sit 
as  mute  and  motionless  as  statues.  Every 
feature,  every  limb,  must  seem  to  correspond 
in  fixed  attention ;  and  while  the  song  con- 
tinues, the}'  are  to  remain  in  a  state  of  univer- 
sal petrifaction.  In  this  mortifying  situation, 
we  had  continued  for  some  time,  listening  to 
the  song,  and  looking  with  tranquillity,  when 
the  master  of  the  box  came  to  inform  us,  that 
the  water-works  were  going  to  begin.  At  this 
information,  I  could  instantly  perceive  the 
widow  bounce  from  her  seat ;  but  correcting 
herself,  she  sat  down  again,  repressed  by 
motives  of  good-breeding.  Mrs.  Tibbs,  who 
had  seen  the  water-works  a  hundred  times, 
resolving  not  to  be  interrupted,  continued  her 
song  without  any  share  of  mercy,  nor  had  the 
smallest  pity  upon  our  impatience.  The  wid- 
ow's face,  I  own,  gave  me  high  entertainment ; 
in  it  I  could  plainly  read  the  struggle  she  felt 
between  good-breeding  and  curiosity ;  she 
talked  of  the  water-works  the  whole  evening 
before,  and  seemed  to  have  come  merely  in 


220        BEAU  TIBB8  AT   VAUXHALL. 

order  to  see  them ;  but  then  she  could  not 
bounce  out  in  the  very  middle  of  a  song,  for 
that  would  be  forfeiting  all  pretensions  to 
high  life,  or  high-lived  company,  ever  after : 
Mrs.  Tibbs  therefore  kept  on  singing,  and  we 
continued  to  listen,  till  at  last,  when  the  song 
was  just  concluded,  the  waiter  came  to  in- 
fonn  us  that  the  water-works  were  over  ! 

"  The  water- works  over  !  "  cried  the  widow ; 
"the  water- works  over  already  !  that's  im- 
possible ;  they  can't  be  over  so  soon  ! "  —  "It 
is  not  my  business,"  replied  the  fellow,  "  to 
contradict  3'our  ladyship  ;  I  '11  run  again  and 
see."  He  went,  and  soon  returned  with  a 
confirmation  of  the  dismal  tidings.  No  cere- 
mony could  now  bind  my  friend's  disappointed 
mistress,  she  testified  her  displeasure  in  the 
openest  manner ;  in  short,  she  now  began  to 
find  fault  in  turn,  and  at  last  insisted  upon 
going  home,  just  at  the  time  that  IMi*.  and  Mrs. 
Tibbs  assured  the  company  that  the  polite 
hours  were  going  to  begin,  and  that  the  ladies 
would  instantaneously  be  entertained  with  the 
horns. 

1760. 


LOUSGEB.]  N"o.    34.  [SfACKENZIE. 

A  COUNTRY  DOWAGER. 

.  .  .  Seil  Jn  longum  tamen  sevum 
Manserunt  bodieque  maneut  vestigia  ruris.    Ilor. 

That  there  is  Nobody  in  town,  is  the  ob- 
servation of  every  person  one  has  met  for 
several  weeks  past ;  and  though  the  word 
Nobody^  like  its  fellow-vocable  Everybody,  has 
a  great  latitude  of  signification,  »nd  in  this 
instance  means  upwards  of  threescore  thou- 
sand people,  yet  undoubtedly,  in  a  certain 
rank  of  life,  one  finds,  at  this  season,  a  very 
great  blank  in  one's  accustomed  society.  He 
whom  circumstances  oblige  to  remain  in  town, 
feels  a  sort  of  imprisonment  from  which  his 
move  fortunate  acquaintance  have  escaped  to 
purer  air,  to  fresher  breezes,  and  a  clearer 
sky.  He  sees,  with  a  very  melancholy  aspect, 
the  close  window-shutters  of  deserted  houses, 
the  rusted  knockers,  and  mossy  pavement  of 
unfrequented  squares,  and  the  few  distant 
scattered  figures  of  empty  walks ;  while  he 
fancies,  in  the  country,  the  joyousness  of 
the  reapers,  and  the  shout  of  the  sportsman 
enlivening  the  fields  ;  and  within  doors,  the 
hours  made  jocund  by  the  festivity  of  assem- 
bled friends,  the  frolic,  the  dance,  and  the 
song.  .  .  . 

I  am  not  sure  if,  in  the  regret  which  I  feel 


222  A   COUNTBY  DOWAGEB. 

for  my  absence  from  the  country,  I  do  not 
rate  its  enjoyments  higher,  and  paint  its  land- 
scapes in  more  glowing  colors,  than  the  reality 
might  afford.  I  have  long  cultivated  a  talent 
very  fortunate  for  a  man  of  my  disposition, 
that  of  travelling  in  my  easy-chair,  of  trans- 
porting myself,  without  stirring  from  my  par- 
lor, to  distant  places  and  to  absent  friends,  of 
drawing  scenes  in  my  mind's  eye,  and  of 
peopling  them  with  the  groups  of  fancy,  or 
the  society  of  remembrance.  "When  I  have 
sometimes  lately  felt  the  dreariness  of  the 
town,  deserted  by  my  acquaintance ;  when  I 
have  returned  from  the  coffee-house  where 
the  boxes  were  unoccupied,  and  strolled  out 
for  my  accustomed  walk,  which  even  the  lame 
beggar  had  left ;  I  was  fain  to  shut  myself  up 
in  my  room-,  order  a  dish  of  my  best  tea  (for 
there  is  a  sort  of  melancholy  which  disposes 
one  to  make  much  of  one's  self),  and  calling 
up  the  powers  of  memory  and  imagination, 
leave  the  solitary  town  for  a  solitude  more 
interesting,  which  my  younger  days  enjoyed  in 
the  country,  which  I  think,  and  if  I  am  wrong 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  undeceived,  was  the  most 
Elysian  spot  in  the  w^orld. 

'T  was  at  an  old  lady's,  a  relation  and  god- 
mother of  mine,  where  a  particular  incident 
occasioned  my  being  left  during  the  vacation 
of  two  successive  seasons.  Her  house  was 
formed  out  of  the  remains  of  an  old  Gothic 
castle,  of  which  one  tower  was  still  almost 
entire ;  it  was  tenanted  by  kindly  daws  and 
swallows.     Beneath,  in  a  modernized  part  of 


A   COUNTRY  DOWAGEB.  223 

the  building,  resided  the  mistress  of  the  man- 
sion. The  house  was  skirted  with  a  few 
majestic  elms  and  beeches,  and  the  stumps  of 
several  others  shewed  that  they  had  once  been 
more  numerous.  To  the  west,  a  clump  of  firs 
covered  a  ragged  rocky  dell,  where  the  rooks 
claimed  a  prescriptive  seignory.  Through 
this  XI  dashing  rivulet  forced  its  way,  which 
afterwards  grew  quiet  in  its  progress ;  and 
gurgling  gently  through  a  piece  of  downy 
meadow-ground,  crossed  the  bottom  of  the 
garden,  where  a  little  rustic  paling  enclosed  a 
washing-green,  and  a  wicker  seat,  fronting  the 
south,  was  placed  for  the  accommodation  of 
the  old  Lady,  whose  lesser  tour,  when  her 
fields  did  not  require  a  visit,  used  to  terminate 
in  this  spot.  Here,  too,  were  ranged  the 
hives  for  her  bees,  whose  hum,  in  a  still, 
warm  sunshine,  soothed  the  good  old  Lady's 
indolence,  while  their  proverbial  industry  was 
sometimes  quoted  for  the  instruction  of  her 
washers.  The  brook  ran  brawling  through 
some  underwood  on  the  outside  of  the  garden, 
and  soon  after  formed  a  little  cascade,  which 
fell  into  the  river  that  winded  through  a  valley 
in  front  of  the  house.  When  haymaking  or 
harvest  was  going  on,  my  godmother  took  her 
long  stick  in  her  hand,  and  overlooked  the 
labors  of  the  mowers  or  r.\ipevs ;  though  I 
believe  there  was  little  thrift  in  the  super- 
intendency,  as  the  visit  generally  cost  her  a 
draught  of  beer  or  a  dram,  to  encourage  their 
diligence. 

Within  doors  she  had  so  able  an  assistant. 


224  A   COUNTS Y  DOWAGEB. 

that  her  labor  was  little..  In  that  department 
an  old  man-servant  was  her  minister,  the 
father  of  my  Peter,  who  serves  me  not  the 
less  faithfully  that  we  have  gathered  nuts 
together  in  ray  godmother's  hazel-bank.  This 
old  butler  (1  call  him  by  his  title  of  honor, 
though  in  truth  he  had  many  subordinate 
offices)  had  originally  enlisted  with  her  hus- 
band, who  went  into  the  army  a  youth,  thougli 
he  afterwards  married  and  became  a  country 
gentleman,  had  been  his  servant  abroad,  and 
attended  him  during  his  last  illness  at  home. 
His  best  hat,  which  he  wore  a-Sundays,  with  a 
scarlet  waistcoat  of  his  master's,  had  still  a 
cockade  ia  it. 

Her  husband's  books  were  in  a  room  at  the 
top  of  a  screw  stau-case,  which  had  scarce 
been  opened  since  his  death  ;  but  her  own 
library  for  Sabbath  or  rainy  days  was  ranged 
in  a  little  book-press  in  the  parlor.  It  con- 
sisted, as  far  as  I  can  remember,  of  several 
volumes  of  sermons,  a  Concordance,  Thomas 
a'Kempis,  Antoninus's  Mediiiations,  the  "Works 
of  the  Author  of  the  Whole  Duty  of  Man, 
and  a  translation  of  Boethius ;  the  original 
editions  of  the  Spectator  and  Guardian,  Cow- 
ley's Poems,  Dryden's  "Works  (of  which  I  had 
lost  a  volume  soon  after  I  first  came  about 
her  house).  Baker's  Chronicle,  Burnet's  His- 
tory of  his  own  Times,  Lamb's  Royal  Cook- 
ery, Abercromby's  Scots  "Warriors,  and  Nis- 
bet's  Heraldry. 

The  subject  of  the  last-mentioned  book  was 
my  godmother's  strong  ground  ;  and  she  could 


A   COUNTIiY  DOWAGER.  225 

disentangle  a  point  of  genealogy  bej^ond  any- 
body I  ever  knew.  kShe  had  an  excellent 
memory  for  anecdote,  and  her  stories,  though 
sometimes  long,  wore  never  tiresome  ;  lor  she 
had  been  a  woman  of  great  beauty  and  ac- 
complishments in  her  youth,  and  had  kept 
such  company  as  made  the  drama  of  her 
stories  respectable  and  interesting.  She  spoke 
frequently  of  such  of  her  own  family  as  she 
remembered  when  a  child,  but  scarcely  ever  of 
those  she  had  lost,  though  one  could  see  she 
thought  of  them  often.  She  had  buried  a 
beloved  husband  and  four  children.  Her 
3'oungest,  Edward,  "  her  beautiful,  her  brave," 
fell  in  Flanders,  and  was  not  entombed  with 
his  ancestors.  His  picture,  done  when  a 
child,  an  artless  red  and  white  portrait,  smell- 
ing at  a  nosegay,  but  very  like  withal,  hung 
at  her  bedside,  and  his  sword  and  gorget 
were  crossed  under  it.  When  she  spoke  of  a 
soldier,  it  was  in  a  style  above  her  usual  sim- 
plicity ;  there  was  a  sort  of  swell  in  her  lan- 
guage, which  sometimes  a  tear  (for  her  age 
had  not  lost  the  privilege  of  tears)  made  still 
more  eloquent.  She  kept  her  sorrows,  like 
the  devotions  that  solaced  them,  sicred  to 
herself.  They  threw  nothing  of  gloom  over 
her  deportment ;  a  g  ntle  shade  only,  like  the 
flackered  clouds  of  summer,  that  increase,  not 
diminish,  tlie  bonignity  of  the  season. 

She  had   few    neighbors,    and    still   fewer 

visitors  ;  but  her  reception  of  such  as  did  visit 

her  was  cordial  in  the  extreme.     She  pressed 

a  little  too  much,  perhaps  ;  but  there  was  so 

15 


226  A   COUNTET  DOWAGEB. 

much  heart  and  good-will  in  her  importunity, 
as  made  her  good  things  seem  better  than 
those  of  any  other  table.  Nor  was  her  atten- 
tion confined  only  to  the  good  fare  of  her 
guests,  though  it  might  have  flattered  her 
vanity  more  than  that  of  most  exhibitors  of 
good  dinners,  because  the  cookery  was  gen- 
erally directed  by  herself.  Their  servants 
lived  as  well  in  her  hall,  and  their  horses  in 
her  stable.  She  looked  after  the  airing  of 
their  sheets,  and  saw  their  fires  mended  if  the 
night  was  cold.  Her  old  butler,  who  rose  be- 
times, would  never  suffer  anybody  to  mount 
his  horse  fasting. 

The  parson  of  the  parish  was  her  guest 
every  Sunday,  and  said  prayers  in  the  evening. 
To  say  truth,  he  was  no  great  genius,  nor 
much  a  scholar.  I  believe  my  godmother 
knew  rather  more  of  divinity  than  he  did  ;  but 
she  received  from  him  information  of  another 
sort ;  he  told  her  who  were  the  poor,  the  sick, 
the  dying  of  the  parish,  and  she  had  some  as- 
sistance, some  comfort  for  them  all. 

I  could  draw  the  old  lady  at  this  moment ! 
—  dressed  in  gray,  with  a  clean  white  hood 
nicely  plaited  (f<>r  she  was  somewhat  finical 
about  the  neatness  of  her  person) ,  sitting  in 
her  straight-backed  elbow-chair,  which  stood 
in  a  large  window  scooped  out  of  the  thickness 
of  the  ancient  wall.  The  middle  panes  of  the 
window  were  of  painted  glass,  the  story  of 
Joseph  and  his  brethren.  On  the  outside 
waved  a  honeysuckle-tree,  which  often  threw 
ita  shade  across  her  book  or  her  work ;  but 


A   COUNTHY  DO  WAGES.  227 

she  would  not  allow  it  to  be  cnt  down.  "  It 
has  stood  tliere  many  a  day,"  said  she,  "  and 
we  old  inhabitants  should  bear  with  one  an- 
other." Methinks  I  see  her  thus  seated,  her 
spectacles  on,  but  raised  a  little  on  her  brow 
for  a  pause  of  explanation,  their  shagreen-case 
laid  between  the  leaves  of  a  silver-clasped 
family  Bible,  On  one  side  her  bell  and  snuff- 
box ;  on  the  other  her  knitting  apparatus  in  a 
blue  damask  bag.  Between  her  and  the  fire 
an  old  Spanish  pointer,  that  had  formerly  been 
her  son  Edward's,  teased  but  not  teased  out 
of  his  gravity,  by  a  little  terrier  of  mine.  All 
this  is  before  me,  and  I  am  a  hundred  miles 
from  town,  its  inhabitants,  and  its  business. 
In  town  I  may  have  seen  such  a  figure  ;  but 
the  country  scenery  around,  like  the  tasteful 
frame  of  an  excellent  picture,  gives  it  a  height- 
ening, a  relief,  which  it  would  lose  in  any  other 
situation. 

Some  of  my  readers,  perhaps,  will  look  with 
little  relish  on  the  portrait.  I  know  it  is  an 
egotism  in  me  to  talk  of  its  value  ;  but  over 
this  dish  of  tea,  and  in  such  a  temper  of  mind, 
one  is  given  to  egotism.  It  will  be  only  add- 
ing another  to  say,  that  when  I  recall  tlie  rural 
scene  of  the  good  old  lady's  abode,  her  sim- 
ple, her  innocent,  her  useful  employments,  the 
afflictions  she  sustained  in  this  world,  the  com- 
forts she  drew  from  another,  I  feel  a  serenity 
of  soul,  a  benignity  of  affections,  which  I  am 
sure  confer  happiness,  and  I  think  must  pro- 
mote virtue. 

Sept.  30, 178G. 


ILLUSTRATIVE  NOTES. 


No.  I,  page  19.  —  Mr.  Bickerstaff  visits  a  Friend. 
—  For  those  to  whom  the  touching  domestic  picture 
contained  in  this  and  the  following  paper  is  unfa- 
miliar, it  may  be  well  to  recall  a  passage  from  Mr. 
Forster's  Steele  {Historical  and  Biographical  Essays, 
1858,  ii.,  138)  :  "In  connection  with  it,  too,  it  is 
to  be  remembered  that  at  this  time  [17o9],  as  Mr. 
Macaulay  observes  in  his  Essay,  no  such  thing  as 
the  English  novel  existed.  De  Foe  as  yet  was 
only  an  eager  politician,  Richardson  an  industrious 
compositor,  Fielding  a  mischievous  school-boy,  and 
Smollett  and  Goldsmith  were  not  born.  For  5our 
circulating  libraries  (the  first  of  which  had  been 
established  some  six  years  before,  to  the  horror  of 
sellers  of  books,  and  the  ruin  of  its  ingenious  in- 
ventor), there  was  as  yet  nothing  livelier,  in  that 
direction,  than  the  interminable  Grand  Cyrus  of 
Madame  de  ScudSri,  or  the  long-winded  Cassandra 
and  Pharamond  of  the  lord  of  La  Calprenede,  which. 
Steele  so  heartily  laughed  at  in  his  Tender  Husband." 

A  ♦•  point  of  war  "  (p.  24)  is  used  l»y  Shakespeare 
and  the  Elizabethans  for  a  strain  of  military  music. 
(See  Henry  IV.,  Act  iv.,  Sc.  1.)  "John  Hicka- 
thrift"  (p.  25)  is  generally  styled  "Thomas"  in  the 
"  Pleasant  and  Delightful  Histories,"  which  record 
his  adventures.  But  Sterne  also  calls  him  "  Jack" 
in  vol.  i.,  ch.  xiv.  of  Tristram  Shandy. 

No.  2,  page  26.  —  Mr.  Bickerstaff  visits  a  Friend 
(continued).  —  The  latter  part  of  this  paper  was 
written  by  Addison.  "  It  would  seem  [to  quote 
Mr.  Forster  once  more]  as  though  Steele  felt  him- 
self unable  to  proceed,  and  his  friend  had  taken  the 
pen  from  his  trembling  hand."  —  (/&.,  p.  141.) 


ILLU8TBATIVE  NOTES.  229 

"  Favonius  "(p.  27),  as  Steele  acknowledges  in  the 
"  Preface"  to  the  Tatter  of  1710  (vol.  iv.),  was  Dr. 
George  Smah'idge,  at  that  time  Lecturer  of  St.  Dun- 
stau's.  Fleet  Street,  and  ultimately  Bishop  of  Bris- 
tol, lie  took  part,  on  the  siile  of  the  a  .cients,  in 
the  Boyle  and  Bentley  controversy.  M  icaulay,  in 
the  life  of  Atterbury  which  he  wrote  in  1853  for  the 
Encyclopcedia  Britannica,  calls  him  "  the  humane  and 
accomplished  Smalridge."  There  is  an  excellent 
priut  of  him  by  Vertue  after  Kneller  (1724). 

No.  3,  page  32.  —  The  Trumpet  Club.  —  "  Jack 
Ogle "  (p.  34)  was  a  noted  gambler  and  duellist. 
On  one  occasicm,  having  lost  his  "martial  cloak" 
at  play,  he  came  to  muster  in  his  landlady's  red 
petticoat.  The  Duke  of  Monmouth,  who  was  in  the 
secret,  ordered  the  troop  to  cloak.  "  Gentlemen," 
biwled  the  unibashed  Ogle,  "if  I  can't  cloak,  I 
can  petticoat  with  the  best  of  you !  "  This  is  the 
Bencher's  story. 

Mr.  BickerstaflTs  "  maid  with  a  lanthorn  "  (p.  36) 
throws  a  curious  light  upon  the  dim  nocturnal  Lon- 
don of  1710,  where  only  in  the  more  frequented 
thoroughfares, 

"...  oily  rays, 
Shot  from  the  crystal  lamp  o'erspread  the  ways." 

For  some  of  its  many  perils  to  belated  pedestrians, 
consult  Gay's  Trivia,  Bk.  iii.,  1.  335  et  seq. 

The  Trumpet  -vyas  a  public-house,  in  Sheer-  or 
Shire-lane,  by  Temple  Bar,  where  the  New  Law 
Courts  now  stand.  It  still  existed  as  the  Duke  of 
York  in  Leigh  Hunt's  time.  —  (Z%e  Town,  1848, 
i.,  148.) 

No.  4,  page  38.  —  The  Political  Upholsterer.  — 
King  Augustus  of  Poland  (p.  38)  was  deposed  in 
1704;  Charles  XII.  of  Sweden  (p  39)  was  wounded 
in  a  skirmish  on  the  banks  of  the  Vorskla  before 
Poltava,  June  28th,  1709.  The  winter  muft'for  men 
(p.  39)  which  figures  among  the  "shabby  super- 
fluities" of  the  Upholsterer's  costume,  although  of 


L30  ILLU8TBATIVE  NOTES. 

anterior  date,  is  not  of  ten  referred  to  so  early.  Ex- 
amples of  it  are  to  be  seen  in  Hogarth's  Sweanng  a 
Child  (1735),  Bakes  Progress  (1735),  PI.  iv.,  and 
Taste  in  High  Life  (1742).  But  it  was  most  in 
fashion  twenty  or  thirty  years  later.  In  November, 
1766,  my  Lord  of  March  and  Euglcn  (the  March  of 
the  Virginians)  writes  thus  to  George  Selwyn  at 
Paris:  "The  muff  you  sent  me  by  the  Duke  of 
Richmond  I  like  prodigiously :  vastly  better  than 
if  it  had  been  tigre,  or  of  any  glaring  color :  several 
are  now  making  after  it."  —  (Jesse's  Selwyn,  1843, 
ii.,  71 ;  see  also  Goldsmith's  Bee,  1759,  No.  ii.,  "  On 
Dress.") 

Fielding's  comedy  of  the  Coffee-House  Folitician, 
1730,  has  certain  afflnites  with  this  paper;  and 
Arthur  Murphy's  farce  of  The  Upholsterer ;  or,  What 
News?  1758,  is  said  to  have  been  based  upon  it.  It 
has  also  been  alleged  that  Mr.  Thomas  Arne,  an 
upholsterer  at  the  sign  of  the  "  Two  Crowns  and 
Cushions,"  in  King  Street,  Covent  Garden,  father 
of  Arne  the  musician,  and  Mrs.  Cibber  the  tragic 
actress,  was  the  person  here  satirized  by  Addison. 
In  Identifications  of  this  sort,  however,  the  fol- 
lowing passage  may  well  be  borne  in  mind:  "To 
prevent,  therefore,  any  such  malicious  applications, 
I  declare  here,  once  for  all,  I  describe  not  men,  but 
manners ;  not  an  individual  but  a  species.  Perhaps 
it  will  be  answered,  Are  not  the  characters  then 
taken  from  life?  To  which  I  answer  in  the  affirm- 
ative; nay,  I  believe  I  might  aver  that  I  have  writ 
little  more  than  I  have  seen." —  (Joseph  Andrews, 
Bk.  iii.,  ch.  i.) 

No.  5,  page  44.  —  Tor)i  Folio.  —  Rightly  or 
wrongly  (see  previous  note),  "Tom  Folio"  has 
been  said  to  be  intended  for  Thomas  Kawlinson, 
a  famous  book-lover  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
According  to  Dibdin.  he  was  "  a  very  extraor- 
dinarj'  character,  and  most  desperately  addicted 
to  book-hunting.  Because  his  own  house  was  not 
large  enough,  he  hired  London  House,  in  Aldersgate 
Street,  for  the  reception  of  his  library,  and  here  he 


ILLU8TBATIVE  NOTES.  231 

used  to  regale  himself  with  the  sight  and  the  scent 
of  innumerabe  black-letter  volumes,  arranged  in 
'  sable  garb,'  and  stowed  perhaps '  three-deep,'  from 
the  bottom  to  the  top  of  his  house.  He  died  in 
1725 ;  and  catalogues  of  his  boolis  for  sale  con- 
tinued, for  nine  successive  years,  to  meet  the  pub- 
lic eye." —  {The  Bibliomania;  or,  Book-Madness, 
1809,  p.  33.) 

The  quotation  (p.  48)  is  from  Boileau's  fourth 
satire,  addressed  in  1G64  to  Monsieur  I'Abbfi  le 
Vayer. 

No.  6,  page  49.  —  Xed  Softly  the  Poet.  — Although 
the  fact  seems  to  have  escaped  Chalmers  and  the 
earlier  annotators,  Addison  must  plainly  have  been 
thinking  of  Scene  IX.  of  Les  Precieuses  Bidicules 
when  he  penned  this  pleasant  piece  of  raillery :  — 

"  Masctirille.  Avee-vous  remarqui  ce  commencement:  Oh! 
oh?  Voila qui  est  extraordinaire:  oh,  ohl  Commevn  kommo 
qui  s'avise  tout  d'un  coup:  oh,  oh!    La  surprise:  oh,  oh  I 

"  Madelon.     Oui,je  trouve  ce  oh,  oh!  admirable. 

"  Mascarille.    //  semble  que  cela  ne  soit  rien. 

"  Ciithoa.  Ah!  mon  Dieu,  que  dites-coua  t  Ce  sont  Id  de  cet 
gorti't  de  chases  qtti  ne  se  peuvent  payer. 

"  Afadelon.  SSans  doute;  et  j'aimerois  mietix  avoir  fait  ce 
oh,  oh!  qu'nn  poeme  epique." —  (Les  Grands  Ecrivains  de  la 
France:  Moliere,  1875,  ii.,  86.) 

No.  7,  page  55.  —  Becollections  of  Childhood.  — 
There  is  a  stanza  in  Prior's  poem  of  The  Garland, 
which  has  a  superficial  resemblance  to  Steele's  words 
at  p.  59  respecting  his  first  love :  — 

"  At  Dawn  poor  Stella  danc'd  and  snog; 
The  am'rous  Youth  around  Her  bow'd: 
At  Night  ber  fatal  Knell  waa  rung; 
I  eaw,  and  kiss'd  Her  in  her  Shioad." 

The  Garland  is  not  included  in  Prior's  Poems  on 
Several  Occasions,  1709;  but  it  appears  at  p.  91  of 
the  folio  of  1718.  It  is  therefore  just  possible  that 
the  lines  may  have  been  suggested  by  Steele's 
paper. 

Gairaway's  Coflfee-House  (p.  59),  where  "mer- 
chants most  did  congregate,"  was    in    Exchange 


2S3  ILLUSTBATIVE  NOTES. 

Alley,  Comhill ;  and,  in  the  original  folio  issue  of 
this  Tatter,  there  is  a  long  advertisement  of  the 
coming  sale  of  "46  Hogsheads  and  One  half  of  ex- 
traordinary French  Claret,"  for  which  Steele's  con- 
cluding paragraph  is  no  doubt  a  "  puft"  collateral." 
Comparing  the  treatment  of  Death  by  Swift,  Ad- 
dison, and  Steele,  ilr.  Thackeray  selected  the  second 
paragraph  of  this  essay  for  its  characteristic  con- 
trast to  Addison's  "lonely  serenity"  and  Swift's 
"savage  indignation":  "The  third,  whose  theme 
is  Death,  too,  and  who  will  speak  his  word  of  moral 
as  Heaven  teaches  him,  leads  you  up  to  his  father's 
cofBn,  and  shews  you  his  beautiful  mother  weeping, 
and  himself  an  unconscious  little  boy  wondering  at 
her  side.  His  own  natural  tears  flow  as  he  takes 
your  hand,  and  confidingly  asks  for  3our  sympathy. 
'  See  how  good  and  innocent  and  beautiful  women 
are,'  he  says,  '  how  tender  little  children  !  Let  us 
love  these  and  one  another,  brother  —  God  knows 
we  have  need  of  love  and  pardon.'" —  {The  Eng- 
lish Humorists  of  the  Eighteenth  Century:  Steele, 
1853,  p.  149.) 

No.  8,  page  6i.  —  Adventures  of  a  Shilling. — 
Hawkesworth  copied  this  idea  in  the  Adventurer, 
No.  43,  substituting  a  halfpeimy  for  a  shilling,  and 
later  Charles  Johnstone  amplified  it  into  Chrysal ; 
or,  The  Adventures  of  a  Guinea,  17GO-5.  The  inven- 
tive "friend"  of  the  first  lines  was  Swift.  In  the 
Journal  to  Stella,  Dec.  14,  1710,  he  refers  to  the 
paper,  saying  that  he  did  not  do  more  than  give  the 
"  hint  and  two  or  three  general  heads  for  it  " 

The  allusion  to  "  Westminster  Hall"  (p.  63)  sug- 
gests Lloyd's  lines  in  the  Laio  Student,  — 

"  'T  is  not  enough  each  mom,  on  Term's  approach, 
To  club  your  legal  threepence  for  a  coach," 

but  they  belong  to  a  later  date.  "  A  monstrous  pair 
of  breeches  "  (p.  65)  is  said  to  refer  to  the  hose- 
like shields  on  the  Commonwealth  coinage.  John 
Phillips,  author  of  The  Splendid  Shilling  (p.  66), 
died  in  1708. 


ILLU8TBATIVE  NOTES.  233 

No.  9,  page  67.  —  Frozen  Voices.  —  According  to 
Tickell,  Steele  assisted  in  tliis  paper.  Its  germ  may 
perhaps  be  traced  to  llabelais,  Boole  iv.,  Cliaps.  55, 
5G  (i.  e.,  "  Comment  en  hauUe  mer  Fantayruel  ouyt 
diuerscs  paroUes  desgelees,"  and  "  Comment,  entre 
Its  parolles  gelees,  Pantagrvel  treuua  des  viotz  de 
gueulle)";  or  to  the  following  passage  from  Hey- 
lyn's  description  of  Muscovie :  "  This  excesse  of 
cold  in  the  aj're,  gaue  occasion  to  Castilian  in  his 
Aitlicus,  wittily  &  not  Incongruously  to  f aiue ;  that 
if  two  men  being  somewhat  distant,  talke  together 
in  the  winter,  their  words  will  be  so  frozen,  that 
they  cannot  bee  heard :  but  if  the  parties  in  the 
spring  retume  to  the  same  place,  their  words  wil 
melt  in  the  same  order  that  they  were  frozen  and 
spoken,  &  be  plainely  vnderstood." —  (Miicpo<co<7fios,  a 
little  Description  of  the  great  World,  4th  edn.,  1629, 
p.  345.)* 

The  episode  of  the  Frenchmen's  kit  (p.  72)  may 
be  compared  with  the  later  account  in  Munchhausen 
of  the  postilion's  horn  that  began  to  play  of  its 
own  accord  when  hung  in  the  chimney  comer: 
"  Suddenly  we  heard  a  Tcreng  !  tereng  !  teng  !  tetig  ! 
"We  looked  round,  and  now  found  the  reason  why 
the  postilion  had  not  been  able  to  sound  his  horn ; 
his  tunes  were  frozen  up  in  the  horn,  and  came  out 
now  by  thawing,  plain  enough,  and  much  to  the 
credit  of  the  driver :  so  that  the  honest  fellow  en- 
tertained us  for  some  time  with  a  variety  of  tunes, 
without  putting  his  mouth  to  the  horn  —  The  King 
of  Prussia's  march  —  Over  the  hill  and  over  the 
dale  —  with  many  other  favorite  tunes :  at  length 


*  Ileylyn  must  have  quoted  from  memory,  for  CaMlian's 
(Castiglione's)  Btc)ry,  which  is  too  long  for  reproduction,  differs 
in  some  respects  from  the  above. —  (See /f  Corteffiano,  or  the 
Courtier-,  Italian  and  English,  London,  1727,  Bk.  ii.,  p.  189.) 
But  the  idya  is  probably  much  earlier  than  any  of  the  writers 
named.  In  SuUh  I'lid  (^/rien  for  1850  will  be  found  a  full  dia- 
cuesion  of  this  question,  for  reference  to  which,  as  well  as  for 
many  other  friendly  services  that  deserve  more  prominent  rec- 
ognition tlian  a  foot-note,  we  are  indebted  to  the  kindness  of 
Mr.  It.  F.  Bketchley,  Keeper  of  the  Dyce  and  Forster  Library 
at  South  Ktiusingtou. 


234  ILLUSTRATIVE  NOTES. 

the  thawing  entertainment  concluded,  as  I  shall  this 
short  account  of  my  Russian  travels."  —  (The  Sur- 
prising Travels  and  Adventures  of  Baron  Munch- 
hausen,  Hughes's  edn.,  no  date,  p.  19.  The  book 
was  first  pubnshed  by  Kearsley  in  1786.) 

No.  10,  page  74.  —  Stage  Lions.  —  Nicolino  Gri- 
maldi,  or  "  Nicolini,"  came  to  London  in  1708,  and  in 
the  Tatler  of  Januarys,  1710 (No.  115),  Steele,  gives 
a  highly  favorable  account  of  his  powers.  He  had 
not  only  a  good  voice,  but,  as  Addison  also  admits 
(p.  78),  he  was  a  good  actor  as  well;  and  Gibber 
thought  "that  no  Singer,  since  his  Time,  had  so 
justly  and  gracefully  acquitted  liimself ,  in  whatever 
Character  he  appear'd,  as  Nicolini."  —  {An  Apology 
for  the  Life  of  Mr.  Colley  Cibber,  Comedian,  1740, 
p.  225. )  There  is  a  further  reference  to  him  in  No. 
405  of  the  Spectator. 

Ilydaspes  (p.  75)  was  first  pioduced  on  May  23, 
1710.  Being  thrown  naked  to  a  lion,  the  hero, 
after  an  operatic  combat  selon  les  regies,  strangles  his 
opponent. 

,No.  II,  page  79.  —  Meditations  in  Westminster 
Abbey.  —  Bird's  Monument  to  Sir  Cloudesly  Shovel 
(p.  81)  is  in  the  south  aisle  of  the  Choir.  The  con- 
cluding paragraph  of  this  paper  may  be  contrasted 
with  another  classic  passage:  "O  Eloquent,  Just 
and  Mighty  Death !  whom  none  could  advise,  thou 
hast  pers waded;  what  none  hath  dared,  thou  hast 
done ;  antl  whom  all  the  AVorld  hath  flattered,  thou 
only  hast  cast  out  of  the  World  and  despised :  thou 
has  drawn  together  aU  the  far  stretched  Greatness, 
all  the  Pride,  Cruelty  and  Ambition  of  Man,  and 
covered  it  all  over  with  these  two  narrow  words. 
Hie  jacet."  The  grave  words  of  Addison  pale  beside 
the  grave  words  of  Raleigh,  and  the  difference  in 
style  is  the  difference  between  the  Eighteenth  Cen- 
tury and  the  Seventeenth.  Unfortunately,  the  His- 
tory of  the  World  is  not  entirely  of  a  piece  with  the 
above  quotation. 


ILLU8TBATIVE  NOTES.  235 

No.  12,  page  84. —  The  Exercise  of  the  Fan. — 
The  first  suggestion  of  this  essay,  like  some  others 
by  Addison,  is  due  to  Steele  (see  the  account  of  tlie 
Fan  which  the  "  beauteous  Delamira"  resigns  to  the 
' '  matchless  Virgulta  "  in  the  Tatter  for  August  9, 
1709,  No.  52).  The  following  verses  by  Atterbury, 
which  Steele  quotes  in  Tatter  No.  238,  may  also  have 
been  in  Addison's  mind :  — 

"Flavin  the  least  and  slightest  toy 
Can  with  resistless  art  erniiloy. 
This  fan  in  meaner  bands  would  prove 
An  engine  of  small  force  in  love ; 
But  she  with  such  an  air  and  mien, 
Not  to  be  told,  or  safely  seen, 
Directs  its  wanton  motions  so, 
That  it  wounds  more  than  Cupid's  Low; 
Gives  coolness  to  the  matchlees  dame, 
To  ev'ry  other  breast  a  flame." 

A  more  modem  illustration  of  the  use  of  this 
dangerous  weapon  is  to  be  found  in  the  Spanish 
experiences  of  Contarini  Fleming  (Part  v.,  ch.  6)  : 
"  But  the  fan  is  the  most  wonderful  part  of  the 
whole  scene.  A  Spanish  lady,  with  her  fan,  might 
shame  the  tactics  of  a  troop  of  horse.  Now  she 
unfurls  it  with  tlie  slow  pomp  and  conscious  ele- 
gance of  the  bird  of  Juno ;  now  she  flutters  it  with 
all  tlie  languor  of  a  listless  beauty,  now  with  all  the 
liveliness  of  a  vivacious  one.  Now,  in  the  midst  of 
a  very  tornado,  she  closes  it  witli  a  whir,  which 
makes  you  start.  .  .  .  Magical  instrument !  In  this 
land  it  speaks  a  particular  language,  and  gallantry 
I'equirts  no  other  mode  to  express  its  most  subtle 
conceits  or  its  most  unreasonable  demands  than  this 
delicate  machine."  "  Machine  "  and  "  tactics  "  read 
a  little  suspiciously ;  and  it  may  be  that  Lord  Bea- 
cousfleld  in  turn  remembered  his  Spectator. 


No.  13,  page  89.  —  Will  Wimble.  —  Steele's  first 
outline  of  Sir  Iloger  is  here  printed  as  it  appears  in 
the  folio  issue  of  the  Spectator  (No.  2,  March  2, 
1711'):  — 

"  The  first  of  our  Society  is  a  Gentleman  of  Wor- 


236  ILLUSTBATIVE  NOTES. 

cestershire,  of  ancient  Descent,  a  Baronet,  his  Name 
Sir  RoGKR  DE  CovERLY.  His  great  Grandfatiier 
was  Inventor  of  that  famous  Country-Dance  which  is 
call'd  after  him.  All  who  know  that  Shiro,  are  very 
well  acquainted  with  the  Parts  and  Merits  of  Sir 
Roger.  He  is  a  Gentleman  that  is  very  singular  in 
his  Behaviour,  but  his  Singularities  proceed  from  his 
good  Sense,  and  are  Contradictions  to  the  Manners 
of  the  World,  only  as  he  thinks  the  World  is  in 
the  wrong.  However,  this  Humour  creates  him  no 
Enemies,  for  he  does  nothing  with  Sowemess  or 
Obstinacy ;  and  his  being  unconfiued  to  Jlodes  and 
Forms,  makes  hira  but  the  readier  and  more  capable 
to  please  and  oblige  all  who  know  him.  When  he 
is  in  Town  he  lives  in  Suho-Square :  It  is  said,  he 
keeps  himself  a  Batchelor  by  reason  he  was  crossed 
in  Love,  by  a  perverse  beautiful  Widow  of  the  next 
County  to  him.  Before  this  Disappointment,  Sir 
Roger  was  what  you  call  a  fine  Gentleman,  had 
often  supped  with  my  Lord  liochester  and  Sir  George 
Etherege,  fought  a  Duel  upon  his  first  coming  to 
Town,  and  kick'd  Bully  Daicson  in  a  publick  Coffee- 
house for  calling  him  Youngster.  But  being  ill- 
used  by  the  above-mentioned  Widow,  he  was  very 
serious  for  a  Year  and  a  half ;  and  tho*  his  Temper 
being  naturally  jovial,  he  at  last  got  over  it,  he  grew 
careless  of  himself,  and  never  dressed  afterwards ; 
he  continues  to  wear  a  Coat  and  Doublet  of  the 
same  Cut  that  were  in  Fashion  at  the  Time  of  his 
Repulse,  which,  in  his  merry  Humours,  lie  tells  us, 
has  been  in  and  out  twelve  Times  since  he  first  wore 
it.  .  .  .  He  is  now  in  his  Fiftysixth  Year,  cheerful, 
gay,  and  hearty ;  keeps  a  good  House  both  in  Town 
and  Country ;  a  great  Lover  of  Mankind ;  but  there 
is  such  a  mirthful  Cast  in  his  Behaviour,  that  he  is 
rather  beloved  than  esteemed :  His  Tenants  grow 
rich,  his  Servants  look  satisfied,  all  the  young 
Women  profess  Love  to  him,  and  the  young  Men 
are  glad  of  his  Company :  When  he  comes  into  a 
House  he  calls  the  Servants  by  their  Names,  and 
talks  all  the  Way  up  Stairs  to  a  Visit.  I  must  not 
omit  that  Sir  Roger  is  a  justice  of  the  Quorum; 


ILLUSTBATIVE  NOTES.  237 

that  he  flll9  the  Chair  at  a  Quarter-Session  with 
great  Abilities,  and  three  Montiis  ago,  gain'd  uni- 
versal Applause  by  explaining  a  Passage  in  the 
Game-Act."  The  character  thus  generally  sketched, 
was  subsequently  elaborated,  though  not  without 
certain  discrepancies,  into  one  of  the  most  popular 
personages  of  fiction.  The  lion's  share  of  the 
work  was  Addison's,  Steele's  contributions  being 
only  seven  in  number.  Budgell  and  Tickell  also 
assisted.  (See  No.  15,  Sir  Boger  de  Goverley  Hare' 
Hunting,  and  note  to  No.  21,  Death  of  Sir  Boger  de 
Coverley. ) 

Sir  John  Pakington,  a  Tory  Knight  of  "Worcester- 
shire, has  been  named  as  the  original  of  Sir  Roger ; 
while  the  death  of  the  reputed  prototype  of  Will 
Wimble  is  thus  recorded  in  the  Crentleman's  Maga- 
zine for  1741,  p.  387:  ''July  2.  At  Dublin,  Mr. 
Tho.  Morecrnft,  a  Baronet's  younger  Son,  the  Per- 
son mentioned  by  the  Spectator  in  the  Character  of 
Will  Wimble."  But,  for  the  reasons  given  in  a 
previous  note,  no  real  importance  can  be  attached 
to  either  of  these  indications.  It  is  much  more 
likely,  as  suggested  by  Mr.  W.  Henry  Wills  {Sir 
Boger  de  Coverley,  1850,  p.  193),  that  the  character 
account  of  "Mr.  Thomas  Gules  of  Gule  Hall," 
of  Wiinble  grew  out  of  a  hint  of  Steele's.  (See 
Tatler,  No.  256.) 

No.  14,  page  94.  —  Sir  Boger  de  Coverley's  Ances- 
tors. —  In  Fisher's  Ground  Plan  of  Whitehall,  16»0, 
the  Tilt-Yard  (p.  95)  is  shewn  facing  the  Banquet- 
ing House,  and  extending  to  the  right.  Jenny 
Man's  "  Tilt-Yard  Coffee  House,"  to  which  Sir 
Roger  refers,  is  said  to  have  stood  on  the  site  at 
present  occupied  by  the  Paymaster  General's  Office, 
and  still  existed  in  1819.  Now  (1882),  the  Pay- 
master General's  itself  is  to  be  pulled  down,  and  in 
a  brief  space  of  time  fresh  structures  will  again 
arise  upon  the  spot  where  the  Knight's  ancestor 
manipulated  his  adversary  with  such  "  laudable 
Courtesy  and  pardonable  Insolence."  As  Bram- 
ston  sings :  — 


238  ILLUSTBATIVE  NOTES. 

"  What's  not  destroy'd  by  Time's  devouring  hand? 
Where  'a  Troy,  and  where  'b  the  may-pole  in  the  Strand  P  " 

A  "white-pot"  (p.  96),  according  to  Halliwell,  is 
a  dish  made  of  cream,  sugar,  rice,  cimiamon,  etc., 
formerly  much  eaten  in  Devonshire.  Gay,  who 
came  from  that  county,  thus  refers  to  it  in  the 
Shepherd's  Week,  IZll :  — 

"Pudding  our  Parson  eats,  the  Squire  loves  Hare, 
But  White-pot  thick  is  my  Jiuxoma's  Fare." 

Monday;  or.  The  Squabble. 

No.  15,  page  100.  —  Sir  Boger  de  Coverley  Hare- 
Hunting.  —  As  to  Sir  Roger's  solicitude  with  re- 
spect to  the  voices  of  his  dogs,  compare  Somer- 
vile's  Chace,  1735,  Bk.  i.  p.  18  :  — 

"  But  above  all  take  heed,  nor  mix  thy  Honnds 
Of  difC'rent  Kinds;  discordaut  sounds  shall  grate 
Thy  Ears  offended,  and  a  lagging  Line 
Of  babbling  Curs  disgrace  thy  broken  Pack." 

The  concluding  portion  of  this  paper,  on  the  advan- 
tages of  hunting,  has  been  omitted. 

No.  16,  page  106.  —  The  Citizen's  Journal.  — 
The  "  falling  of  a  pewter  dish"  (p.  109)  suggests 
an  eighteenth-century  detail  hardly  realizable  in 
these  days,  namely,  the  scarcity  of  common  earthen- 
ware. Plates,  b.xsins,  spoons,  flagons,  —  every- 
thing was  pewter.  Some  quaint  illustrations  of 
tills  are  to  be  found  in  a  very  interesting  article  on 
"  Mrs.  Harris's  Household  Book"  which  appeared 
in  the  Saturday  Bemew  for  January  21st,  1882. 
"Brooke  [not  'Brook's']  and  Hellier"  (p.  Ill) 
were  wine-merchants  in  "  Basing  Lane  near  Bread 
Street,"  who  frequently  advertised  in  the  Spectator 
(see  Nos.  150  etseq.,  original  issue),  a  fact  which 
probably  accounts  for  their  presence  in  the  text, 
here  and  elsewhere,  as  neither  Steele  nor  Addison 
seem  to  have  been  averse  to  "  backing  of  their 
friends." 

Every  club  or  coffee-house  (we  must  assume) 
had  its  private  oracle,  who,  at  Will's  or  the  Grecian, 


ILLUSTBATIVE  NOTES.  239 

"  Like  Cato,  gave  his  little  Senate  laws, 
And  Bat  atteutive  to  his  own  applause  "; 

or  like  Mr.  Nisby,  in  tlie  liumbler  houses  of  call, 

"  Emptied  his  pint,  and  sputter'd  his  decrees," 

through  a  cloud  of  "Virginia. 

"  Laced  Coffee  "  —  it  is  perhaps   needless  to  add 

—  is  coffee  dashed  with  spirits. 

No.  17,  page  1x3. —  The  Fine  Lady's  Journal. 

—  "Bohea"  (p.  115),  in  Clarinda's  time,  was  20s. 
alb.  (see  the  "Private  Account  Book  of  Isabella, 
Duchess  of  Grafton,"  in  the  Ilanmer  Correspond- 
ence, 1838,  p.  239).  "Aurengzebe"  (p.  116)  was 
an  heroic  play  produced  by  Di-yden  in  ltj75 ;  "  Inda- 
mora"  (p.  117)  was  the  name  of  the  heroine. 
For  Nicolini,  see  Note  to  No.  10,  Stage  Lions. 
The  "  dumb  man"  (p.  118)  was  Duncan  Campbell, 
a  fashionable  fortune-teller,  whose  headquarters 
in  1712  (see  Spectator,  No.  474)  were  at  the 
"  Golden  Lion  "  in  Drury  Lane.  De  Foe  compiled  a 
popular  life  of  hira,  which  Curll  published  in  1720. 
He  was  then  "  living  in  Exeter  Court,  over  against 
the  Savoy,  in  the  Strand,"  and  still  prospering 
with  the  credulous.  As  to  "Lady  Betty  Modely's 
skuttle"  (p.  116),  and  "mobs"  (p.  118),  Chalmers 
has  two  highly  edifying  notes.  He  explains  the 
former  to  be  "a  pace  of  affected  piecipitation," 
and  the  latter  ' '  a  huddled  oeconomy  of  dress  so 
called."  "Mobs"  were  in  vogue  long  after  the 
date  of  this  paper.  They  are  referred  to  as  late  as 
1773  or  1774  in  those  dancing  couplets  which  Gold- 
smith wrote  to  pretty  Mrs.  Bunbury  at  Barton,  and 
which  were  first  given  to  the  world  in  the  Hanmer 
Correspondence,  p.  382  :  — 

"Both  are  plac'd  at  the  bar,  with  all  proper  decorum, 
With  bunches  of  fennell,  and  nosegays  before  'em; 
Both  cover  their  faces  with  mobs,  and  all  that, 
But  the  judge  bids  them,  angrily,  take  off  their  hat." 

The  authorship  of  the  celebrated  epitaph  "  On 
the  Countess  Dowager  of  Pembroke"  (p.  119)  still 


240  ILLUSTBATIVE  NOTES. 

remains  **  uncertain."  In  the  original  issue  of  this 
essay  Addison  assigned  it  to  Ben  Jonson,  in  whose 
works  it  was  included  by  his  first  editor  Whalley, 
whom  Gilford  follows  (Jonson's  Works,  1816,  viii., 
p.  337).  In  the  previous  year  (1815)  Sir  Egerton 
Brydges,  when  editing  his  Original  Poems,  never 
published,  by  William  Broione  (the  author  of  Britan- 
nia's Pastorals),  had  thought  himself  justified  in 
claiming  it  for  that  author,  because  he  had  found 
it,  with  a  second  stanza,  in  a  collection  of  poems 
purporting  to  be  by  Browne,  which  forms  part  of 
the  Lansdowne  MSS.  (No.  777,  Art.  i.)  Of  this 
version  the  following  is  a  textual  copy  from  the 
MS.  (fol.  43)  :  — 

"  Vnderneath  thU  sable  Herse 
Lyes  the  subiect  of  all  verse 
Sydneyes  sister  Pembrokes  mother 
Death  ere  thou  hast  slaine  another 
ffaire  &  Learn'd  &;  good  as  she 
Tyme  shall  throw  a  dart  at  thee. 

"  Marble  pyles  let  no  man  raise 
To  her  name  for  after  dayes 
Some  kind  ■woman  borne  as  she 
Heading  this  like  Xiobe 
Shall  tnrne  Marble  &  become 
Both  her  Mourner  &  her  Tombe.'* 

Browne  was  on  intimate  terms  with  WiUiam,  Earl 
of  Pembroke,  here  referred  to.  But,  oddly  enough, 
the  foregoing  verses  (and  this  assumes  the  existence 
of  another  MS.  copy)  are  to  be  found  among  what 
are  described  as  Pembroke's  own  poems,  printed 
with  Rudyard's  in  1660  by  the  younger  Donne,  and 
reprinted  by  Brydges  in  1817.  In  this  collection, 
however,  they  do  not,  according  to  Brydges,  bear 
Pembroke's  initial ;  and  as  the  volume  also  contains 
several  pieces  which  have  been  traced  to  well-known 
writers  (see  Hannah's  Poems  by  Sir  Henry  Wotton, 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  and  others,  1845,  p.  Ixi),  Pem- 
broke's claim  to  any  hand  in  them,  improbable  on 
other  grounds,  may  fairly  be  dismissed.  The 
choice  therefore  lies  between  Jonson,  to  whom  tra- 
dition assigns  them,  and  Browne,  in  whose  MS. 


ILLUSTRATIVE  NOTES.  241 

poems  they  appear.  From  the  inferior  and  even 
contradictory  character  of  tlie  second  stanza,  edit- 
ors have  naturally  hesitated  to  give  Jonson  the 
credit  of  it.  But  this  is  to  insist  a  little  too  much 
upon  great  authors  being  always  equal  to  themselves. 
If,  as  we  cannot  but  believe,  he  wrote  the  first  verse, 
it  is  not  impossible  that  he  also  wrote  the  second, 
only  discarding  it  perhaps  when  it  vpas  too  late  to 
suppress  it  entirely.  At  all  events,  the  "  sable 
Herse"  of  line  i.  seems  to  anticipate  the  "  Marble 
pyles  "  of  liue  vii. ;  and  the  fact  that,  in  addition  to 
the  two  cases  mentioned  above,  "  both  parts  are 
found  in  many  ancient  copies,  e.  g.,  in  Bancroft's 
Collection,  MS.  Tann.  465,  fol.  G2;  and  in  MS, 
Ashm.  781,  p.  152"  (Hannah,  ut  supra,  p.  Ixii;,  is 
in  favor  of  their  being  the  work  of  one  and  the 
same  writer,  whether  it  be  Browne  or  Jonson. 

No.  i8,  page  120.  —  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  at  the 
Play. —  The  Distrest  Mother  (p.  120),  the  new  play 
referred  to,  was  a  dull  and  decorous  version  by 
Ambrose  Philips  of  Racine's  Andromaque.  Field- 
ing burlesqued  it  in  the  Covent  Garden  Tragedy,  1732. 
The  part  of  Andromache  was  taken  by  Pope's  "  Nar- 
cissa,"  Mrs.  Oldfleld;  and  Addison  and  Budgell  fur- 
nished a  liighly  popular  Epilogue.  Steele,  who 
wrote  the  Prologue,  had  already  praised  the  piece 
in  an  earlier  ;^ec^ator  (No.  200).  The  Committee; 
or,  The  Faithful  Irishman,  1665  (p.  120)  was  a  play 
by  Sir  Robert  Howard,  Dryden's  brother-in-law. 
Captain  Sentry  (p.  121)  was  Sir  Roger's  nephew 
and  heir.  (See  No.  21,  Death  of  Sir  Roger  de  Cov- 
erley.) 

The  "Mohocks"  or  Mohawks  (p.  120),  of  whom 
mention  was  made  in  the  Fine  Lady's  Journal,  were 
a  club  or  "  nocturnal  fraternity,"  who  perpetrated 
all  kinds  of  brutal  excesses.  There  is  a  letter  giv- 
ing a  particular  account  of  them  in  No.  324  of  the 
Spectator.  Swift  also  writes:  "Did  I  tell  you  of 
a  race  of  rakes,  called  the  Mohocks,  that  play  the 
devil  about  this  town  every  night,  slit  people's 
noses  and  beat  them,  etc.  ?  "  Again,  "  Our  Mohocks 
16 


242  ILLUSTBATIVE  NOTES. 

go  on  still,  and  cut  people's  faces  every  night. 
'Faith,  they  sha'n't  cut  mine :  I  like  it  better  sis  it 
is.  The  dogs  will  cost  me  at  least  a  crown  a  week 
in  chairs.  I  believe  the  souls  of  your  houghers  of 
cattle  have  got  into  them,  and  now  they  don't  dis- 
tinguish between  a  cow  and  a  Christian."  (Journal 
to  Stella,  Forster's  corrected  text,  March  8  and  26, 
1712.)  "What  would  Swift  have  said  to  the  ' '  hough- 
ers of  cattle"  to-day? 

No.  ig,  page  126.  —  A  Day's  Bamble  in  London. 

—  The  old  "Stocks  Market"  (p.  127),  a  view  of 
which  by  Joseph  Nichols,  shewing  the  statue  of 
Charles  II.  trampling  upon  Oliver  Cromwell,  was 
engraved  in  1738,  stood  on  the  site  of  the  present 
Mansion  House;  and  "  Strand  Bridge  "  (p.  128)  was 
at  the  foot  of  Strand  Lane,  between  King's  College 
and  Surrey  Street.  There  was  a  "Dark-house" 
(p.  128)  in  Billmgsgate;  but  it  can  scarcely  be  the 
one  here  referred  to.  "James  Street  "(p.  129)  is 
James  Street,  Covent  Garden. 

The  "  Silkworm"  of  this  Voyage  ou  il  vous plaira 
still  survived  at  the  close  of  the  century  iu  Cowper's 

"...  Miss,  the  mercer's  plague,  from  shop  to  shop 
'Wandering,  and  littering  with  unfolded  silks 
The  polished  counter,  and  approving  none. 
Or  promising  with  smiles  to  call  again." 

(r<MA,  Bk.vi.) 

—  nor  is  the  race  even  now  extinct.  Steele's  frank 
admiration  for  female  beauty  is  one  of  the  most 
engaging  features  in  his  papers.  A  subsequent 
Spectator  (.No.  510)  begins  thus:  "I  was  the 
other  Day  driving  in  an  Hack  thro'  Gerard  Street, 
when  my  Eye  was  immediately  catch'd  with  the 
prettiest  Object  imaginable,  the  Face  of  a  very  fair 
Girl,  between  Thirteen  and  Fourteen,  fixed  at  the 
Chin  to  a  painted  Sash,  and  made  part  of  the  Lan- 
skip.  It  seem'd  admirably  done,  and  upon  throwing 
myself  eagerly  out  of  the  Coach  to  look  at  it,  it 
laugh'd,  and  flung  from  the  Window.  This  amiable 
Figure  dwelt  upon  me,"  —  and  so  forth.     See  also 


ILLUSTRATIVE  NOTES.  243 

the  episode  of  the  beautiful  Amazon  of  Enfield 
Chase  in  Tatler,  No.  248.  One  wonders  a  little 
if  "Dearest  Prue"  ever  studied  these  particular 
essays. 

No.  20,  page  134. — Dick  Estcourt !  In  Memoriam. — 
Estcourt  was  buried  in  the  south  aisle  of  St.  Paul's, 
Covent  Garden,  on  the  day  this  paper  was  issued 
(August  27,  1712).*  Another  contemporary  and 
eye-witness  of  his  performances  closely  confirms 
Steele's  words  respecting  his  imitative  powers. 
"  This  Man  was  so  amazing  and  extraordinary  a 
Mimick,  that  no  Man  or  Woman,  from  the  Coquette 
to  the  Privy-Councillor,  ever  mov'd  or  spoke  be- 
fore him,  but  he  could  carry  their  Voice,  Look, 
Mien,  and  Motion,  instantly  into  another  Company : 
I  have  heard  him  make  long  Harangues,  and  from 
various  Arguments,  even  in  the  Manner  of  Think- 
ing, of  an  eminent  Pleader  at  the  Bar,  with 
every  the  least  Article  and  Singularity  of  his  Utter- 
ance so  perfectly  imitated,  that  he  was  the  very 
alter  ipse,  scarce  to  be  distinguish'd  from  his  Origi- 
nal." —  {An  Apology  for  the  Life  of  Mr.  Golley  Cib- 
ber,  Comedian,  1740,  p.  69.)  Yet  Cibber  goes  on 
to  say  that  these  qualities  deserted  him  upon  the 
stage;  and  that  he  was  on  the  whole  "  a  languid, 
unaft'ecting  Actor." 

The  Northern  Lasse  (p.  138),  first  acted  in  1632, 
was  by  Richard  Brome ;  the  Tender  Husband,  1703 
(p.  138),  was  Steele's  own.  There  are  other  refer- 
ences to  Estcourt  in  Nos.  264,  358,  and  370  of  the 
Spectator.  He  acted  as  Providore  of  the  famous 
Beef-Steak  Club,  and  wore  a  golden  gridiron  as  his 
badge  of  ofBce. 

No.  21,  page  140.  —  Death  of  Sir  Boger  de  Cov- 
erley.  —  "  The  reason  which  induced  Cervantes  to 
bring  his  hero  to  the  grave,  para  mi  sola  nacio  Don 
Quixote,  y  yo  para  el,  made  Addison  declare,  with 

*  The  date  of  Estconrt's  burial  has  been  obligingly  supplied 
by  Colonel  Jos.  L.  Chester. 


244  ILLUSTRATIVE  NOTES. 

undue  vehemence  of  expression,  that  he  Tvould  kill 
Sir  Roger,  being  of  opinion  that  they  were  born  for 
one  another,  and  that  any  other  hand  would  do  him 
wrong." — (Johnson's  Lives,  by  Cunningham,  ii., 
134.)  Johnson's  statement  is  based  upon  a  passage 
in  Budgell's  Bee,  1733,  No.  1.  There  is  also  a  tradi- 
tion that  Addison  was  displeased  by  certain  liberties 
taken  with  his  favorite  character  in  No.  410  of  the 
Spectator,  supposed  to  be  by  Tick  ell.  If  this  be  so, 
his  resentment  was  somewhat  tardily  exhibited,  for 
there  is  an  interval  of  four  months  between  the 
paper  referred  to,  and  the  present  essay.  The  true 
ground  for  Sir  Roger's  death  is  probably  to  be 
found  in  the  fact  that  Steele  was  preparing  to  wind 
up  vol.  vii.  —  (See  Introduction,  p.  11.) 

No.  22,  page  145.  —  The  Tory  Fox-Hunter.  — The 
reader  is  referred  to  Mr.  Caldecott's  humorous  fron- 
tispiece. The  huge  overfed  horseman,  with  his 
jolting  seat  and  noisy  laugh,  is  surely  a  creation 
worthy  of  Addison's  text.  Will  not  Mr.  Caldecott 
some  day  give  us  a  series  of  studies  from  the 
Essayists?  He  seems  to  seize  the  very  spirit  of  the 
age :  other  men  draw  its  dress. 

"  Dyer's  Letter  "  (p.  147)  was  a  news-letter,  hav- 
ing a  blank  page  for  correspondence.  In  No.  127 
of  the  Spectator,  Sir  Roger  is  represented  as  read- 
ing it  aloud  each  morning  to  his  guests.  There  was 
another  issued  by  Ichabod  Dawks  (  Tatler,  No.  178). 
That  elegant  Latinist,  Mr.  Smith,  of  Phaedra  and 
Hippolitus  fame  (see  note  to  No.  28),  put  them  both 
into  verse :  — 

"  Scribe  Becurus,  quid  agit  Senatus, 
Quid  caput  stertit  grave  Lambethanum, 
Quid  Comes  Guildford,  quid  habent  novornm 
Dawkaqae  Dyerqne." 

No.  23,  page  152.  —  A  3Iodern  Conversation.  — 
Lord  Chestertteld's  sketch  of  his  academic  friend 
may  be  compared  with  Thomas  "Warton's  Journal  of 
a  Senior  Fellow  (also  of  Cambridge)  in  No.  33  of 
The  Idler,  —  a  paper  that  would  have  found  a  place 


ILLUSTBATIVE  NOTES.  245 

in  this  collection  but  for  its  evident  relationship  to 
Addison's  earlier  Journals  (Nos.  16  and  17).  Warton 
had  already  satirized  the  easy,  inglorious  life  of  the 
average  college  don  of  the  period  in  his  "  Progress 
of  Disconte)\t,'  the  first  version  of  which  appeared 
in  the  Student  of  June  30,  1750 :  — 

"  Return,  ye  days,  when  endless  pleasure 
I  found  In  reading,  or  in  leisure  I 
When  calm  around  the  common  room 
I  puff'd  ray  daily  pipe's  perfume ! 
Uodo  for  u  stomach,  and  inspected, 
At  annual  bottlings,  corks  selected : 
And  din'd  untax'd,  untroubled,  under 
The  portrait  of  our  pious  Founder!  " 

(Poetical  Works,  ii.,  1802,  p.  197.) 

"The  late  Dr.  [George]  Cheyne"  (p.  168^  died 
in  April,  1743.  His  English  Malady  {i.  e.,  Hypo- 
chondria), published  in  1733,  is  more  than  once 
referred  to  in  Boswell's  Johnson,  and  he  was  the 
friend  of  lUchardson.  His  last  book  was  dedicated 
to  Chesterfield.  In  Gillray's  well-known  Temperance 
enjoying  a  Frugal  Meal,  1792,  which  represents 
King  George  III.  and  Queen  Charlotte  at  breakfast 
on  eggs  and  salad,  "  Dr.  Cheyne  on  tlie  Benefits 
of  a  Spare  Diet "  is  a  prominent  object  in  the  fore- 
ground. 

No.  24,  page  160.  —  A  Modem  Conversation  (con- 
tinued). —  By  "  Chaos  wine"  (p.  162),  Colonel  Cul- 
verin  is  explained  to  have  meant  "Cahors."  The 
"  Bottle  Act"  (p.  104)  referred  to  was,  in  all  prob- 
ability, the  Act  of  1753  for  preventing  wines  from 
being  brought  into  the  port  of  London  without  pay- 
ing the  London  duty.  Next  to  London,  Bristol  was 
the  lai'gest  importer  of  wines,  and  a  centre  of  the 
glass  bottle  trade,  which  miiy  account  for  its  con- 
nection with  the  toabt ;  but  the  allusion  is  obscure. 
The  "Jew  Bill  "  (p.  164)  was  the  unpopular  meas- 
ure for  natm-aliziiig  the  Jews  wliich  was  passed  and 
repealed  in  1753.  Lord  Chesterfield  approved  it, 
and  regarded  its  repeal  as  a  concession  to  the  mob. 
—  (^Letters,  Nov.  26,  1753.)    There  are  many  satiri- 


246  ILLUSTBATIVE  NOTES. 

cal  prints  relating  to  tliis  subject  in  the  British. 
Museum  ;  and  in  Hogarth's  Election  Entertainment, 
1755,  a  lioolt-nosed  efBgy,  with  a  placard  round  its 
neck  inscribed  "No  Jews,"  is  conspicuous  among 
the  objects  seen  through  the  open  window. 

No.  25,  page  168.  —  The  Squire  in  Orders.  — 
To  be  "japanned"  (p.  169)  is  "Eighteenth-Cen- 
tury" for  being  ordained.  When  Sir  William  Tre- 
lawney  found  he  could  only  assist  his  protege  and 
medical  adviser,  Jolm  Wolcot  (afterwards  ' '  Peter 
Pindar"),  by  giving  him  a  living,  he  sent  him  from 
Jamaica  to  England  to  "get  himself  japanned." 
Wolcot's  brief  clerical  career  was  of  a  piece  with 
this  beginning.  His  congregation,  chiefly  negroes, 
frequently  failed  to  attend,  and  on  these  occasions, 
he  used  to  while  away  the  service-time  on  the 
shore  by  shooting  ring-tailed  pigeons  with  his 
clerk. 

As  a  pendant  to  "  Mr.  Village's  "  picture,  we  sub- 
join Fielding's  portrait  (^Champion,  February  26, 
1740)  of  another  kind  of  "  country  parson,"  —  a 
portrait  which  its  author  affirms  to  have  been  taken 
from  tlie  life :  — 

"  Sometime  since  I  went  with  my  wife  to  pay  a 
visit  to  a  country  clergyman,  who  hath  a  living  of 
somewhat  above  £100  a  jear.  In  his  youth  he  had 
sacrificed  a  Fellowship  in  one  of  the  Universities, 
to  marry  a  very  agreeable  woman,  who  with  a  small 
fortune  had  had  a  very  good  education.  Soon  after 
his  marriage  he  was  presented  to  the  living,  of 
which  he  is  now  incumbent.  Since  his  coming 
hither,  he  hath  improv'd  the  Parsonage-house  and 
garden,  both  which  are  now  in  the  neatest  order. 
At  our  arrival  we  were  met  at  the  gate  by  the 
clergyman  and  two  of  his  sons.  After  telling  us 
with  the  most  cheerful  voice  and  countenance  that 
he  was  extremely  glad  to  see  us,  he  took  my  wife 
down  in  his  arras,  and  committing  our  two  horses 
to  the  care  of  his  sons,  lie  conducted  us  into  a  little 
neat  parlor,  where  a  table  was  spread  for  our  enter- 
tainment.    Here  the  good  woman  and  her  eldest 


ILLUSTRATIVE  NOTES.  247 

daughter  receiv'd  us  with  many  hearty  expressions 
of  kindness,  and  very  earnest  desires  that  we  would 
take  something  to  refresh  ourselves  before  dinner. 
Upon  this  a  bottle  of  Mead  was  produc'd,  which 
was  of  their  own  making,  and  very  good  in  its  kind. 
Dinner  soon  follow'd,  being  a  gammon  of  bacon 
and  some  chickens,  with  a  most  excellent  apple-pye. 
My  friend  excused  himself  from  not  treating  me 
with  a  roasted  pig  (a  dish  I  am  particularly  fond 
of),  by  telling  us  that  as  times  were  hard,  he  had 
relinquish'd  those  Tithes  to  his  parishioners.  Our 
liquors  were  the  aforesaid  mead,  elder  wine,  with 
strong  beer,  ale,  etc.,  all  perfectly  good,  and  which 
our  friends  exprest  great  pleasure  at  our  drinking 
and  liking.  After  a  meal  spent  with  the  utmost 
cneerfulness,  we  walked  into  a  little,  neat  garden, 
where  we  passed  the  afternoon  with  the  gayest  and 
most  innocent  mirth,  the  good  man  and  good 
woman,  their  sons  and  daughters,  all  vying  with 
one  another,  who  should  shew  us  the  greatest  signs 
of  respect,  and  of  their  forwardness  to  help  us  to 
anything  they  had. 

*'  The  economy  of  these  good  people  may  be  in- 
structive to  some,  as  well  as  entertaining  to  all  my 
readers. 

"  The  clergyman,  who  is  an  excellent  scholar,  is 
himself  the  school-master  to  his  boys  (which  are 
three  in  number).  As  soon  as  the  hours,  appointed 
for  their  studies,  are  over,  the  master  and  all  the 
scholars  employ  themselves  at  work  either  in  the 
garden,  or  some  other  labor  about  the  house,  while 
the  little  woman  is  no  less  industrious  in  her  sphere 
with  her  two  daughters  within.  Thus  the  furniture 
of  their  house,  their  garden,  their  table,  and  their 
cellar,  are  almost  all  the  work  of  their  own  hands ; 
and  the  sons  grow  at  once  robust  and  learned,  while 
the  daughters  become  housewives,  at  the  same  time 
that  they  learn  of  their  mother  several  of  the  gen- 
teeler  accomplishments. 

"Love  and  friendship  Avere  never  in  greater 
purity  than  between  this  good  couple,  and  as  they 
both  have  the  utmost  tenderness  for  their  children, 


248  ILLUSTRATIVE  NOTES. 

so  tliey  meet  Avith  the  greatest  returns  of  gratitude 
and  respect  from  them.  Nay  the  whole  parish  is 
by  their  example  the  family  of  love,  of  which  they 
daily  receive  instances  from  their  spiritual  guide, 
and  which  hath  such  an  eflfect  on  them,  that  I 
believe  —  covimunihus  annis — he  receives  volun- 
tarily from  his  parishioners  more  than  his  due, 
though  not  half  so  much  as  he  deserves.  —  (Edn. 
1741,  i.  310.) 
It  will  be  noted  that,  so  far  from  being 

"  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year," 

one  of  these  clergymen  has  £300,  and  the  other  has 
£100  per  annum. 

No.  26,  page  174.  —  Country  Congrer/ations.  — 
This  paper  of  Cowper's  is  a  little  in  the  vein  of 
Washington  Irving's  charming  studies  in  the  Sketch- 
Book.  The  "  Negligee,"  the  "  Slammerkin,"  and 
the  "Trollope,"  or  "TrollopSe"  (p.  179),  as  may  be 
guessed  from  the  names,  were  loose  gowns  worn 
by  ladies  towards  the  middle  of  the  century. 
"  Mrs.  Roundabout,"  in  Goldsmith's  Bee  (No.  ii., 
Oct.  13,  1759),  wears  a  "lutestring  troUopee"  with 
a  two-yard  train.  The  "  Joan  "  (p.  179)  was  a  close 
cap  —  the  reverse  of  a  mob. 

The  "two  figures  at  St.  Dunstan's"  {i.  e.,  St. 
Dunstan's,  Fleet  Street)  referred  to  at  p.  175,  are 
described  as  "  2  Figures  of  Savages  or  wild  Men, 
well  carved  in  Wood,  and  painted  natural  Color, 
appearing  as  big  as  tlie  Life,  standing  erect,  each 
with  a  knotty  Club  in  his  Hand,  whereby  they  alter- 
nately strike  the  Quarters,  not  only  from  their  Arms, 
but  even  their  Heads  moving  at  every  Blow."  The 
writer  of  the  above,  parish-clerk  in  1732,  goes  onto 
say  "  they  are  more  admired  by  many  of  tlie  Popu- 
lace on  Sniidays,  than  the  most  elegant  Preacher 
from  the  Pulpit  within."  Cowper  refers  to  them 
again  in  his  Table-Talk,  1782. 


ILLUSTRATIVE  NOTES.  249 

No.  27,  page  i8i.  —  Dick  Minim  the  Cntic.  — 
Fhmlra  and  UippoUtus  (p.  184),  an  adaptation  by 
Edmund  Smith  of  Racine's  Phedre,  was  produced  at 
the  Haymarket,  21st  April.  1707,  and  acted  four 
times.  Addison  wrote  the  Prologue,  Prior  the  Epi- 
logue. The  former  (Spectator,  No.  18)  calls  it  "  an 
admirable  tragedy  " ;  but  it  pleased  the  critics  better 
than  tlie  pit.  It  was  revived  at  Covent  Garden  in 
November,  1754,  whicli  is  perhaps  an  additional 
reason  wliy  Jolmson  remembered  it  here.  Baba- 
rossa  CP-  185),  produced  at  Drury  Lane  in  the  same 
year,  was  a  tragedy  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Brown.  In 
tliis  play  tlie  bells  for  the  midnight  and  the  second 
watch  are  used  as  signals  by  the  assassins  of  the 
chief  character.  Cleone  (p.  186),  also  a  tragedy, 
was  by  Robert  Dodsley,  the  bookseller,  who  published. 
London  and  the  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes.  It  first 
came  out  at  Covent  Garden  on  December  2,  1758. 
Johnson  regarded  it  as  superior  to  Otway,.and  thus 
speaks  of  it  in  a  letter  to  Bennet  Langton,  dated 
January  9,  1759 :  "  Cleone  was  well  acted  by  all 
the  characters,  but  Bellamy  [i.  e.,  the  blue-eyed  and 
beautiful  George  Ann  Bellamy,  who,  as  the  heroine, 
made  the  fortune  of  the  piece]  left  nothing  to  be 
desired.  I  went  the  first  night,  and  supported  it  as 
well  as  I  might ;  for  Doddy,  you  know,  is  my  patron, 
and  I  would  not  desert  him.  The  play  was  very 
well  received.  Doddy,  after  the  danger  was  over, 
went  every  night  to  the  stage-side,  and  cried  at  the 
distress  of  poor  Cleone."  —  (BosioelVs  Life,  by 
Croker,  Chap.  XIII.) 

Dick  Minim  would  have  rejoiced  over  the  opening 
verse  of  Enoch  Arden  :  — 

"  Long  lines  of  cliff  breaking  have  left  a  chasm." 

No.  28,  page  188.  —  Dick  Minim  the  Oritic  (con- 
tinued). —  In  a  forcible  passage  respecting  transla- 
tions, which  is  t )  be  found  in  the  "  Preface"  to  the 
Dictionarij.  Jolmson  had  already  declared  his  aver- 
sion to  tribunals  of  taste  (p.  188)  :  "  If  an  acad- 
emy should  be  established  for  the  cultivation  of  our 
style,  which  I,  who  can  never  wish  to  see  depend- 


250  ILLUSTRATIVE  NOTES, 

ence  multiplied,  hope  the  spirit  of  English  liberty 
will  hinder  or  destroy,  let  them,  instead  of  compil- 
ing grammars  and  dictionaries,  endeavor,  with  all 
their  influence,  to  stop  the  license  of  ti'anslators, 
whose  idleness  and  ignorance,  if  it  be  sutlcred  to 
proceed,  will  reduce  us  to  babble  a  dialect  of 
France."  The  writer  who,  as  Garrick  expressed  it 
with  more  patriotism  than  elegance, 

"...  arm'd  like  a  hero  of  yore, 
Had  beat  forty  French,  and  would  beat  forty  more," 
t 

might  perhaps  be  pardoned  for  a  little  self-satisfac- 
tion, M.  Littr6  not  having  yet  arisen  as  a  formidable 
rival.  But  those  who  care  to  ascertain  what  the  fore- 
most English  critic  of  our  day  has  to  say  upon  the 
same  theme  should  turn  to  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold's 
paper  on  TTie  Literary  Influence  of  Academies.  — 
{CornhiU  Magazine,  x.,  pp.  154-172.) 

In  Oldisworth's  panegyric  on  Edmund  Smith  (see 
Note  to  No.  27)  quoted  by  Johnson  in  his  life  of  that 
author,  there  is  a  passage  of  which  he  may  have 
been  thinking  when  he  wrote  Minim's  advice  to 
aspiring  youth  (p.  191) :  "  "When  he  was  writing 
upon  a  subject,  he  would  seriously  consider  what 
Demosthenes;  Homer,  Virgil,  or  Horace,  if  alive, 
would  say  upon  that  occasion,  which  whetted  him 
to  exceed  himself  as  well  as  others." —  {Lives  of  the 
Poets,  Cunningham's  edn.,  ii.,  46.) 

No.  29,  page  193. — Art- Connoisseurs.  —  This 
Essay,  and  those  on  the  Grand  Stifle  of  Painting, 
and  the  True  Idea  of  Beauty  (Idlers,  Nos.  79  and 
82),  were  said  by  Northcote  to  be  "a  kind  of  syl- 
labus "  of  Sir  Joshua's  famous  Discourses.  The 
references  in  this  paper  to  "  the  flowing  line,  which 
constitutes  grace  and  beauty,"  and  the  "pyramidal 
principle  "  (p.  195),  would  seem  to  be  sidelong 
strokes  at  Hogarth's  Analysis,  1753,  which  had  its 
origin  in  the  precept  attributed  to  Michael  Angelo 
that  a  figure  should  alway  be  "  Pyramidall,  Serpent- 
like^  and  multiplied  by  one  two  and  three." —  (Pref- 
ace, p.  V.) 


ILLUSTBATIVE  NOTES.  261 

No.  30,  page  198.  —  The  Man  in  Black. — The 
paper  which  iinmediately  follows  this  one  in  the 
Citizen  of  the  World,  while  professing  to  give  the 
personal  history  of  the  "  Man  in  Black,"  contains 
several  particulars  which  belong  to  Goldsmith's 
own  biogi-aphy.  "Who  can  possibly  doubt,"  says 
Mr.  Forster,  "the  original  fioin  whom  the  man 
in  black's  experiences  were  taken?"  (^Citizen  of 
the  TTorM,  xxvii.)  "  The  first  opportunity  he  [my 
father]  had  of  finding  his  expectations  disappointed 
was  in  the  middling  figure  I  made  at  the  university : 
he  had  flattered  himself  that  he  should  soon  see  me 
rising  into  the  foremost  rank  in  literary  reputation, 
but  was  mortified  to  find  me  utterly  unnoticed  and 
unknown.  His  disappointment  might  have  been 
partly  ascribed  to  his  having  overrated  my  talents> 
and  partly  to  my  dislike  of  mathematical  reasonings 
at  a  time  when  my  imagination  and  memory,  yet 
unsatisfied,  were  more  eager  after  new  objects  than 
desirous  of  reasoning  upon  those  I  knew.  This, 
however,  did  not  please  my  tutor,  who  observed 
indeed  that  I  was  a  little  dull ;  but  at  the  same  time 
allowed  that  I  seemed  to  be  very  good-natured,  and 
had  no  harm  in  me." —  {Life,  Bk.  I.,  Chap,  ii.) 

No.  31,  page  203. —  Beau  TV)hs.  —  This  paper 
and  the  next,  although  included  in  the  Citizen  of 
the  World,  are  here  printed  as  revised  in  the  Essays 
by  Mr.  Goldsmith,  published  by  W.  Griffln  in  1765. 
"It  is  supposed  that  this  exquisite  sketch  had  a 
living  original  in  one  of  Goldsmith's  casual  ac- 
quaintance ;  a  person  named  Thornton,  once  in  the 
army."—  (Forster's  Life,  Bk.  III.,  Chap,  iv.) 

No.  32,  page  208.  —  Beau  T\bbs  (^continued).  — As 
indicative  of  Goldsmith's  fondness  of  the  Christian 
name  of  little  Miss  Tibbs,  Cunningham  points  out 
that  he  transfers  them  to  a  character  of  later 
date :  ' '  Lady  Blarney  was  particularly  attached  to 
Olivia;  Miss  Carolina  "Wilhclmina  Amelia  Skeggs 
(/  love  to  give  the  whole  name)  took  a  greater  fancy 


252  ILLUSTBATIVE  NOTES. 

to  her  sister." — {Vicar  of  Wakefield,  Chap,  xi.) 
The  italics  are  ours. 

No.  33,  page  214.  —  Beau  Tibbs  at  Vauxhall.  — 
Vauxhall,  much  fallen  and  degraded,  saw  its  "  posi- 
tively last "  day  in  1859.  The  flf  teen  hundred  lamps, 
the  waterworks,  and  the  French  horns  so  dear  to 
Mrs.  Tibbs's  Countess,  had  then  long  been  things  of 
the  past ;  and  those  who  wish  to  realize  the  splen- 
dors of  the  Rotunda,  the  "  magnificent  orchestra  of 
Gothic  construction,"  the  mechanical  landscape,  the 
Grove,  and  the  "Lover's  Walk,"  must  reconstruct 
them  from  the  pages  of  Walpole  and  Miss  Burney, 
or  the  design  of  Wale  and  Canaletto.  It  is  possi- 
ble that  those  decorations  of  the  pavilions  which  the 
much-suffering  pawnbroker's  widow  admired  were 
the  very  paintings  which  Hogarth  and  Hayman  had 
executed  for  Jonathan  Tyers  as  far  back  as  1732. 
They  existed  for  many  years  subsequent  to  the  date 
when  Goldsmith  wrote,  being  sold  with  other  prop- 
erty in  1841.  At  that  time  tliey  were  said  to  be 
greatly  "  obscured  by  dirt."  Wher  it  is  added  that 
they  had  long  been  exposed  to  the  air,  varnished 
every  year,  and  freely  assaulted  by  sandwich  knives, 
it  will  be  seen  that  their  condition  was  indeed  deplor- 
able. But  the  little  beau  would  not  have  approved 
them  at  any  stage;  he  would  have  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  rapped  his  box,  and  talked  of  the  grand 
contorno  of  Alesso  Baldovinetti. 

Neither  this  admirable  study  in  genre  nor  the 
Man  in  Black  is  included  in  Goldsmith's  selected 
Essays  of  1765.  It  is  difficult  to  account  for  their 
absence,  except  by  that  strange  paternal  blindness 
which  also  led  Prior  to  omit  from  his  collected 
poems  the  "  Secretary"  and  the  lines  to  a  "  Child  of 
Quality,"  two  of  the  pieces  by  which  he  is  perhaps 
best  known  to  readers  of  to-day. 

No.  34,  page  221.  —  A  Country  Dowager.  —  This 
paper  is  printed  from  the  edition  of  Mackenzie's 
works  published  at  Edinburgh  in  1808,  and  revised 
by  the  author. 


